Passing Through A Screen Door
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. Anna Smith thinks she's content with her life, her teaching career the focal point. Then she meets Sergeant John Bates, and soon her feelings of friendship blossom into more. However, the road to true love is never smooth and, sometimes, in the most hopeless of hours, there is a choice between fighting and fleeing which can prove the mettle of what was there all along.
1. I

**A/N:** My contribution to **batesessecretservice's** Secret Santa Exchange over on Tumblr. I asked both the blog and my Secret Santa if it would be okay to post early and they said yes, so here we are. **miss-ute** , this is for you! :) This part very loosely plays with the prompt, _an unexpected gift_.

All I can do is apologise for the extreme length of this. The whole three parts were intended as a oneshot (and that is how it is for me on Word), but I figured posting a oneshot in the range of 50,000-60,000 words would be a bit extreme...I can totally understand if it's a daunting/unwanted prospect, but I didn't want to keep splitting it into small chunks as it's really not how I read it. I hope some of you enjoy it anyway.

 **annambates** thoughtfully made the cover size more suitable for FFN. Thank you! :)

I've tried not to delve too deeply into the army stuff as I don't know much about it and my reading just confused me. I'm pretty sure I've screwed up the time home allowances somewhere along the lines, but poetic licence...?

 **Disclaimer** _:_ I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

 _Passing Through A Screen Door_

 _April_

As was predictable with the English weather, it was another cold day. Frost had settled early in the early hours of this grim April morning, and had tenaciously hung around the picturesque Yorkshire countryside ever since. It would make a very pretty picture, but for Anna Smith it had lost its aesthetically pleasing quality when her poor old motor had sputtered and died at half past seven, leaving her shivering in the minus temperatures while she waited for the public bus service. Her mood had not been improved by the countless shouts from the school children on board as to why she was there, thinking that they were clever and original. She loved her job, but this morning she was in no mood for cocky children who seemed to think they were untouchable outside the school gates.

By the time she arrived, the beginnings of a headache was starting at her temples. The screaming and yelling on the bus had done nothing to improve her mood. She had a newfound respect for bus drivers. They were saints to put up with that. She'd never been more relieved to push open the staffroom door, the warm heat washing over her.

"You look like hell."

Anna turned in the process of taking off her coat, arching an eyebrow. "Kind as ever, Mary, thank you."

Mary Crawley shrugged elegant shoulders. "I'm a plain talker. What's wrong?"

"The car wouldn't start," she said grudgingly. "I had to catch a bus."

Mary shuddered, as if there could be no greater punishment in the whole world over. "You poor thing. Why didn't you call me?"

"Because you live on the other side of town." The posh side, to be more precise, where every home had a sweeping lawn and a perfect fence, like the American Dream brought to Yorkshire. Anna had a tiny flat with a boiler that was constantly on the blink, and a landlord too lazy to fix any of the multitude of problems. It was amazing how a town could have such a vast wealth gap between its residents.

"Well, I'll give you a lift home."

"Are you sure you're not afraid of being robbed at knifepoint?"

"Gracious, you're touchy this morning."

Anna scrubbed her hand down her face. "I'm sorry. It's just…it's one thing after another at the minute, and I can't seem to catch a break. I don't know why I said that." To be fair, it wasn't an entirely misplaced jab. Mary often refused to come anywhere near the other side of town because she had an innate belief that anything nice would instantly be stolen. Even so, it was a low blow, especially to her best friend.

Waving her apology away, Mary said, "I know what will cheer you up."

"What's that, then?" she asked wearily, moving over to the kitchen area to make herself a much needed cup of coffee.

Mary's eyes were gleaming. "It's career day today."

Anna groaned, spoon clattering out of her hands. "God, I'd forgotten all about that. How is _that_ meant to cheer me up?"

Career day was notorious amongst the teachers, for trying to pin some of the more unruly kids in a room while they learned more about their life options was very much like World War Three.

"Yes, but hear me out. Papa has been put in charge of the army dispatches for today. I asked him to send along a couple of the hunkiest soldiers he knows for the event. It might be a nightmare, but at least we'll have some eye candy."

"Where's the eye candy?"

Anna rolled her eyes with a smile. How typical, Ethel Parks appearing the moment a man was mentioned. The younger woman threw her things down, hitching herself up onto the counter. Her skirt, borderline inappropriate, rode up further, making Joseph Molesley, who was standing nearby, choke into his tea.

"Mary was talking about this career day," said Anna, taking note of the disgruntled look on her friend's face.

"Oh, I'd forgotten all about that," said Ethel, her eyes lighting up. "Does Mary know someone who is coming? Is he hot?"

"Her papa is in the army. She's asked him to send along a couple of attractive soldiers, apparently."

"That is an excellent idea."

"I was thinking more of Anna than of you," Mary snapped.

If Ethel was offended by the other woman's tone, she didn't show it, simply shrugged. "I prefer policemen and firemen, anyway."

"Why?" Anna laughed. "They're all men in uniform, aren't they?"

"Yeah, but I've had a soldier once. Look how that worked out."

She had a point: Major Charles Bryant had made her swoon with his attentiveness, taken her to bed, got her pregnant, and left her high and dry. She was now a single parent raising her son alone. She tried to do her best by him, but she struggled.

"Policemen and firemen are sluttier, anyway. How often do you get an army stripper? I had a policeman on my twenty-first, my friends organised it for me. He gave me quite the present at the end of the night, too, if you get my drift."

Typical Ethel. Anna shook her head, amused, before turning to Mary, who looked decidedly less so. "You don't really need to bother with these men. I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

"Who says it has to be a relationship? Soldiers are posted all over the world at a moment's notice. You could love him and leave him. It's ages since you even had a date with someone, never mind anything more. I'm depressed _for_ you."

"Not everything's about sex," said Anna.

"It's a bloody waste not to use it, though," said Ethel, snaffling a chocolate digestive from the packet left out on the side. "We're in our primes right now. We ought to be out for everything we can get. If you're not interested, maybe I'll give them another go."

Anna shook her head with an exasperated smile. "You two are impossible. Really, I'm fine as I am. When I'm ready for things to change, don't worry, you'll be the first to know."

"Spoilsport," said Ethel.

She only shrugged; no matter what her friends might think, it was true. Right now, she was content with the way her life was. She enjoyed her work with the children, and didn't feel as if she needed anyone else to complete it. In time, of course, she hoped she would find _someone_ to share her life with, but right now her job came first. And that job entailed a lot of hard work and dedication, both in the academic side and in the pastoral side. In a town like Downton, many of the children had little, and it was important to her that they felt like they saw someone to trust in her. Her last boyfriend hadn't been able to understand that. It was why they had drifted apart in the end; that, and the fact that she had caught him with his trousers down with someone he had worked with in Leeds. What had made it all the more unbearable was the way he'd whined and pointed all the blame back at her, complaining that he hadn't felt loved or wanted, and Sarah Anderson from Human Resources had had a convenient shoulder to cry onto—as well as a convenient bed to fall into. Anna had been furious, then anguished—they'd been together almost five years, and that was all the love Steve had shown her—but there was one thing that she had not been prepared to do, and that was suffer fools gladly. She had refused to soften through all the phone calls and texts, ignored the gifts he had tried to lavish on her, and had thrown herself with greater dedication into her work. Leo, her fat cat, was the only man she needed in her life right now.

The bell rang for registration. Teachers sighed and downed the dregs of their drinks. Anna did the same, snatching up her handbag.

"I'll see you period two," she said to her two friends.

Mary made a face. "This is going to be hell, mark my words."

* * *

When the bell rang to signal the end of the first period, Anna's year seven class scarpered like rabbits escaping the fox. They were always on tenterhooks for the last five minutes, many of them already trying to pack up. Ordinarily she would not allow that behaviour to slide—she liked her reputation of being firm but fair—but it was a Friday, the last Friday before the Easter break, and she wasn't really in the mood for staring at a forlorn face all through morning break, so, just this once, she pretended not to notice. Her next period should have been cleared thanks to her class of year tens that were being forced to the career day, but she had been tasked to supervise for the next hour, along with a few of the other teachers who had also had their classes cancelled. She would rather have spent the time ringing round local garages to see if anyone could fit her car in for repairs, but she supposed that that would have to wait. Duty called.

The hall was already a hive of activity when she arrived. Chairs had been set out in long rows, as was usual for a formal assembly, and they were reluctantly being filled by teenagers who looked as though they'd rather be anywhere else. Although, she supposed, many of them were probably trying to console themselves that a day of dossing was better than actual lessons.

She located Mary and Ethel, united in this unsavoury task. Both were sitting with barely concealed expressions of boredom on their faces. Anna wasn't sure that that was a good example to children who already lacked discipline. Still, she slid into her seat between them.

"Has everyone arrived?" she whispered.

"I've seen the policeman and the fireman," said Ethel at once. "And let me tell you, they are both _fine_. I'm not sure how I can choose between them. Maybe they'll be open to a threesome."

"That's disgusting," Mary said grumpily.

"Oh, don't pretend you're whiter than white," said Ethel, her patience seeming to finally wear thin. "You've been seeing four different men since your split from that Matthew."

Mary's brown eyes widened, and she whipped round to face Anna with a ferocious growl. "I told you not to tell anyone!"

"I didn't," she shot back. "I thought you knew me better than that. I never tell other people's secrets when they've been entrusted to me."

"Yeah, as if it was Anna," said Ethel. "It was your cousin Rose I heard it off."

Mary's face was as dark as thunder. That storm would be most horrendous when it broke. Privately, Anna thought that Mary was foolish to trust Rose in the first place. She was a nice girl, but young, and she had the same wildness that lived in Ethel. It was no wonder the two of them had hit it off.

Before the argument could escalate further, Charles Carson, the school's headmaster and their boss, took to the stage. The hall, now filled, fell silent at once. He was the kind of man who demanded respect, grudging or not, and he'd been exactly the kind of man needed to turn the school around.

Clearing his throat, he began to make a speech about the importance of career day and how it sometimes shaped the course of someone's life, so they all needed to take this seriously and not squander such a golden opportunity. Anna's attention drifted a little, taking in the faces sitting behind Mr. Carson on the stage. It was easy to pick out the policeman and the fireman, togged out as they were, and she idly spent the rest of the speech trying to pick out where the others could be from based on their appearance. Which was terrible—weren't they preaching not to judge a book by its cover?—but Mr. Carson's lectures did tend to last for a long time. The woman on the front row was probably from a bank, based on that pristine black and white suit. Her eyes wandered further along. Hang on a second. Wasn't that…?

At the same time that her eyes latched onto him, Mary let out a long, suffering breath and muttered an expletive that made the students around them turn to look at her with over-elaborate outrage.

"What is it?" hissed Ethel from her other side.

Mary's pallor was a deathly white, perfect for Halloween. It didn't seem that she'd be capable of answering for a while, so Anna lowered her voice as far as she could and answered for her. "The blond man in the middle of the second row…that's Matthew Crawley."

" _Is_ it?" said Ethel, craning her neck for a better look. "He's fit!"

"And off bounds!" Anna said firmly. Mary and Matthew were not together, and her best friend pointedly refused to show any interest in what her ex was doing now, or admit that she missed him so much that it was tearing her apart, but Anna highly doubted that she would be okay if Ethel started to put her feelers out. She was one of those enviable women who could bamboozle a man with her sex appeal without him being quite sure what had just happened.

"What's he doing here!?" groaned Mary, apparently paying no attention to the whispered conversation going on around her.

"I expect Havel and Carter have sent him along to talk a bit about getting into law," sighed Anna. "Mr. Carson did say he wanted as many law enforcement services to come along as he could get, to show the kids that staying on the straight and narrow can be very rewarding."

"But _him_! Of all the people they could have sent, it had to be him!"

It certainly was bad luck. Anna wondered how she would feel if Steve turned up here unexpected. It would certainly have her on the back foot, which she hated. Then again, she wasn't in love with Steve. Not anymore, if she had ever really been in love with him in the first place. Mary, on the other hand, was clearly still head over heels for her ex, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

On the stage, Mr. Carson's speech finally came to an end, to half-hearted applause from the students. He raised his hand for silence.

"In your tutor groups, we have organised for you to listen to half an hour speeches from each of the businesses who have sent a representative today. Please use them to gain as much knowledge as you can about each particular area. There's no need to be shy. No question is a stupid question. They're here to help you make informed decisions about the future. Now, we'll just let them go and get themselves ready for five minutes, and then we'll send you off…"

There was a scuffle of chairs onstage as everyone stood and began to file down into the hall. Students stared at them as they passed, as if they were alien lifeforms, but Anna paid little attention; she was rather preoccupied with Mary, who had sunk so low in her seat she had practically disappeared.

"Don't let him see me!" she hissed, and Anna dutifully tried to shelter her, keeping her back facing away while she sensed they had all passed. Mary poked her head out like a mole from underground.

"I don't know what you're making such a fuss for," said Ethel, idly picking at the sleeve of her cardigan. "I've bumped into loads of my exes before. No big deal."

"Never mind that," Anna said, cutting across before Mary could make a scathing retort. "At least you won't be entirely taken by surprise. You know he's here now. You can prepare for if you bump into him at any point."

"I don't think I can."

"Look, you might have to. It could happen anywhere. If the kids get one whiff that there is any tension, it'll be round the school in thirty seconds flat. He's in your territory. He's here to help the children, not to see you. Speak if you have to, and keep it polite. It's more likely that you won't have to interact with him at all. The chance of you getting his class is low all things considered, and you can avoid him at break times. There will be plenty of people you can surround yourself with there. Maybe you can keep the hot soldier your papa sent along company."

"But he was supposed to be for you."

"And I'd happily sacrifice him for you."

"Oh, charming, you'd sacrifice him for her, but not for me?" Ethel moaned.

Mary sniffed, looking almost watery-eyed. "You really are the best friend I could ever have hoped for."

"All right, that's quite enough of that." Anna stood, squeezing her shoulder. "If you carry on much more I won't recognise you. Now come on, we've got some talks to sit in on."

* * *

Mr. Carson, as organised as ever, had actually drawn up timetables with every teacher and every talk they were sitting in on throughout the day. Bemused, Anna took hold of her copy, scanning the order of classes. The rest of this period…she swore internally. Christ, that was not a good sign. Matthew Crawley. She glanced across at Mary's, wondering if she had been lucky enough to escape with her year ten period that afternoon. She had. She half-wished that they could change places. Facing the awkwardness didn't much appeal to her, either.

Mary's eyes widened when she saw Anna's own paper. "Oh, hell."

"Hell is right," Anna agreed. "Bloody unlucky that, isn't it?"

"Whatever he tries to ambush you with, don't tell him a thing. I don't want him to know anything."

"As if I would," she scoffed. "Sisters before misters, isn't that what they say?"

"Usually in a different context," Ethel said dryly. "And that's a load of bollocks anyway. I know which one is going to be shagging my brains out."

Ethel and her need to make everything about sex, Anna thought fondly. "Who did you land with?"

"The fit fireman," she said with a lecherous grin. "I'm just gutted I only have one year ten class. Still, it's only year sevens this afternoon. I could always slip out to see the police officer while they're painting their own takes on Picasso. What about you? Don't you have the bottom set English class as well?"

"I do. Mr. Carson has drafted me in for the fit fireman and the army guys fourth period. Sounds like there's going to be plenty of eye candy there." In the shock of Matthew springing up like an unwanted spectre, she had completely forgotten to scope out the army men. She wasn't entertaining idle fantasies about inviting one back for a drink and a tumble in her bed, but there was no denying that a pretty face certainly brightened the place up.

The students began to filter out, signalling the end of the conversation. Mary clutched at her wrist.

"Good luck," she said.

"I'm going to need it."

"Fill me in on every detail at break, won't you? Catalogue everything."

"Yes, milady." She mock-saluted, then slipped away, with a heavier heart than she was letting show. This was not something she was relishing. She almost dragged her feet to the classroom, her stomach swooping with sickness. Then again, why should it? He wasn't _her_ ex. His breakup with Mary had not been pretty, but there had been no animosity on Anna's behalf towards him. Things would be awkward given how close she was to Mary, but they didn't have to be antagonistic. She could nod, smile, say hello, and keep out of it. She was there to watch, not to participate.

It still took a huge amount of courage to propel herself through the door. Matthew looked up as soon as she entered. Those piercing blue eyes sparked with unease, but not surprise. He had obviously clocked her and Mary there, and she couldn't tell whether he seemed more relieved or disappointed that it had not been Mary to waltz through the door with her usual regal and self-entitled air.

Fortunately, with the kids all around them, there was no opportunity to do more than nod in acknowledgment of each other. Anna settled herself in the furthest corner of the room and tried to melt into the background.

The talk went smoothly. Matthew had always been the kind of man who could get anyone on side, and it was clear that all the kids were engaged with what he was saying, even the more nervous amongst them. When it came to opening the floor, it wasn't like pulling teeth; many of them had thoughtful questions to ask about pursuing a career in law.

The bell for break time signalled too soon. Prepared, Anna leapt to her feet, ready to be the first out the door in the hopes of avoiding Matthew entirely, but before she could take more than a step, he called, "Miss Smith? Could I have a word?"

Many of the students stared, curiosity alive in their faces. Not knowing what else to do, and certainly not with an audience, she stammered, "Um, yes, of course." When none of the students moved, she snapped, "Well, come on, then. Usually we can't keep you in a classroom a second longer than required. Break time is ticking down."

With sidelong glances at each other, they sloped out of the room. Anna closed the door on the last boy's heels, taking a deep breath as she turned to face her best friend's ex. He shuffled awkwardly with the papers he'd spread out on the desk, probably to give himself something to do rather than really needing to straighten them. She folded her arms across her chest. She would not be the first one to speak. He was the one who had wanted to keep her here.

When he caught on, Matthew cleared his throat and said, "It's been a while."

"It has." Six months, to be precise. Mary and Matthew had had their splits before, but never one that had lasted this long.

"How have you been?"

"Fine, thank you."

"The school seems to be doing well."

"It is. Mr. Carson is doing a fine job of turning it around."

"With all of your help, too. They seem like great kids."

"Most of them are. Troubled and misunderstood for the most part. They just need that reassurance that someone is listening and wants to help them get where they want to be."

"You were always fantastic at that part. Mary was forever praising you." He cleared his throat again. Anna waited. They'd got to the subject he'd been aiming for. "How's Mary?"

"She's well," she said guardedly.

"That's…that's good to hear. I heard on the grapevine that she was…that she was seeing someone else."

Rose's blabbing mouth had indeed been speaking the truth: Mary had been seeing a number of men in rotation over the last six months, unable to settle. Matthew could be referring to any one of them. It didn't help that she couldn't glean from him any indication of who he thought it was; all of Mary's men were tall, dark, and handsome, the polar opposite of Matthew's golden head and baby blue eyes.

"I think there have been a few dates," she said carefully. Dates. Could infer more than one person, would likely lead him to believe that it was multiple with the same person.

"I see. Is she…is she happy, then?"

If Mary was happy, she would have settled by now instead of prowling restlessly from one man to the next, not interested enough to commit, needy enough to be unable to let any of them go. The problem was, Mary had only seemed grounded and happy with Matthew. He had brought out a softer side to her that was both rare and who she really was. She'd lost some of that when they had parted ways, and whatever she felt now was a pale imitation of what she'd felt with him.

Still, this was dangerous territory, and Anna did not want to make the wrong move.

"Look," she said flatly, "no offence, Matthew, but I'm not Mary's babysitter, nor am I her mouthpiece. If there's something you want to know, I'd suggest asking her yourself."

"I would, but I don't know how she feels," he argued. "She might hate me now, and you know what her temper is like."

"I highly doubt she hates you, Matthew." It was clear that the opposite was true. She might find it easy to share her body with other men, but her heart…no, that was exclusively his. She glanced pointedly at her watch. "Look, I really need a cup of tea before my next lesson. I can't promise that she'll speak to you, but maybe she will. She does hate to be predictable. But if she thinks that I've been talking to you on her behalf, she really will kill me."

Matthew managed a weak smile at that. Anna left him fumbling with the key to lock the room behind him and made her way to the staffroom. It would not do if they arrived together.

Mary pounced on her before she'd even stepped over the threshold, like a predator ambushing its prey. "Where have you been!?"

"Where's Ethel?" she asked, ignoring her.

"Chatting up the policeman _and_ the fireman at the same time, what else do you expect? Now, stop dodging the question. Matthew's been interrogating you, hasn't he? What have you told him?"

"I haven't told him anything, don't be so daft! I just said that if he really wanted to know the answers to all of his questions, then he should put them to you and not to me."

"Oh, God, you are joking, aren't you? I can't speak to him!"

"So dodge him," Anna said exasperatedly. "Find those fit army men and surround yourself with them. Maybe he'll think twice about approaching you when you're with someone who knows how to use a gun."

Mary's lip quirked reluctantly. "I'd say it was a good idea, if only the army men were here."

"What do you mean, they haven't turned up?"

"No, of course not," said Mary. "I mean they've not turned up to the staffroom. So much for being my knights in shining armour."

On cue, the staffroom door opened. They whirled around in unison; Mary stepped behind her as if that would somehow shield her from Matthew Crawley's gaze, despite the fact that Anna was a good head shorter than her best friend.

It was not Mary's ex. Two uniformed men ducked down into the room. Anna breathed a sigh of relief. The army men.

"Here we go!" she said brightly. "Now you do have your fearsome protectors!"

But Mary groaned in apparent despair, slumping forward. "Oh, come _on_!"

Anna frowned at her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to swing for Papa! Look at what he's sent! That young boy there is exactly that—a boy! He's so baby-faced he hardly looks a day older than fifteen. I'd feel like a cradle robber even holding his hand. That's not going to convince Matthew."

Anna resisted the urge to laugh. Strange as it seemed sometimes, Mary was only twenty-two herself, not even a full year into her first as a teacher. There couldn't be much between her and the baby-faced young man, a couple of years at the most. It was easy to forget that Mary was so young, given her shrewdness and self-confidence in what she was entitled to. Hell, she herself sometimes felt the younger of the two, despite the six year age gap.

"Well, the other is definitely older than us," she noted, then giggled at the expression on Mary's face. "He's usually the type you go for. Tall, dark, handsome…"

"You are joking, aren't you!?" said Mary. Anna was about to ask why—older or not, there _was_ something about him, she could feel it just from that second of his entering the room—but before she could say anything, her friend continued, "That's John Bates!"

"Oh?" she said in surprise. "You know him?"

"Of course I do! I've known him all my life long. He's Papa's best friend. Oh, I'm going to swing for Papa. I told him to send someone hot, so he sends a boy and a bloke I practically look on as an uncle? Unbelievable."

"You can hardly expect your papa to know much about hot men," Anna laughed. "He did his best. Think of it this way: if Matthew sees you with an uncle figure, maybe he'll run for the hills. That's almost as bad as a father."

"Papa and Matthew still get along," said Mary miserably. "And I'm sure John likes him too. No, this is a complete disaster. I'm going to have to hide."

"There's barely five minutes left. Matthew hasn't even appeared yet. And if you know this John that well it would look really rude if you didn't speak to him. Just go and say hello. I'm here with you."

"I really hate that you're such a do-gooder," Mary muttered sullenly, but allowed herself to be propelled through the crowd.

John Bates' gaze instantly found them as they made their way towards him. He grinned broadly. It was a very lovely smile, warm and welcoming, the kind of smile that made a person feel safe.

"Mary!" he greeted affectionately. "Robert said you'd be here. How are you?"

"Fine," she murmured.

There was a short, awkward pause. Mary didn't seem concerned about conversing further. Anna repressed a frustrated sigh. Typical. As soon as something didn't go her way, she sulked.

After a moment John's eyes strayed towards her, and he offered her a hesitant smile. "So, I'm not sure how much Mary has told you, but I'm John Bates. It doesn't take a genius to work out, but I'm in the army."

He held out his hand towards her, and she took it. His fingers were slightly rough, incredibly warm; he dwarfed her own. More than that, there was something there. A spark. It jolted down her spine; it took her every inch of self-control not to pull away like some silly schoolgirl touching her crush for the first time. She peered up into his dark eyes, half-afraid nevertheless. Had he felt it too?

If he had, there was no sign of it. He gave her another close-lipped smile that made lovely deep crinkles appear around his eyes.

Fighting off the urge to look down, she said, "I'm Anna Smith, head of English."

"English, eh? That was the subject I fancied at school. I actually studied it at university. I might have pursued it further if I hadn't made other choices."

"You have good tastes, Sergeant Bates."

They were still gripping each other's hands. Aware that Mary was practically drilling a hole in her head with her shrewd gaze, Anna dropped it, clearing her throat, a little off-kilter. God, where had that come from?

John merely shrugged. "This is Private William Mason," he said, motioning to the lad beside him.

"Nice to meet you, Private Mason," she said, offering her hand to him too. There. Nothing out of the ordinary about it.

"Just William, please," he replied, pinking.

"I didn't know Papa was sending you," said Mary, an accusatory edge to her tone, as if it was their fault that they didn't live up to the expectations she had set in her own mind. "I was under the impression we'd be getting something…else."

John's eyes twinkled. He seemed to know exactly what Mary wasn't quite saying. "I was coming up to the area today, and Robert didn't see the point in disturbing anyone else when I would be on the doorstep. And he thought it would be good for the kids to see someone who had risen through the ranks, give them a taste of ambition and what they might be rewarded with if they worked hard. And William here is only just out of school himself, really. He's a good representative of their age group."

"I think Robert's thinking is spot on," said Anna, ignoring the glare her friend shot her. "The kids here need that sort of thing. They're a good bunch, really, but they just need a bit of guidance. I think they'll be interested in hearing what you have to say."

"The first lot responded pretty well, actually, didn't they, Will?" said John.

William nodded. He seemed a bit awkward in his surroundings, tall and gangling and nervous. Anna offered him a smile.

"Well, I'm certainly looking forward to hearing you speak," she said.

John's eyebrows rose. "I didn't realise you were coming along."

"The first half of period four, straight after lunch."

The bell rang. The teachers stirred back into life, hastily downing the rest of their cups of coffee and cramming the remains of their biscuits into their mouths. Anna hadn't even managed a drink. It would be a long time until dinner, especially with the boisterous class of year eights she had. No longer the babies of the school, they always felt they could play up. They were probably Anna's least favourite year to teach, but the timetable gods had conspired against her. So far, she had fared more successfully than some of the others. Poor Joseph Molesley had been subjected to cruel character drawings and rolled up paper thrown at his head.

Even then, she was glad when the bell sounded for dinner; the genius of _Twelfth Night_ had been lost to the majority of them. It would be nice to take a brief break to listen to John Bates and William Mason talk about their experiences before she tackled poetry with her year twelves.

She found Mary sitting in the back corner of the staffroom, picking morosely through her salad. She slipped into the seat opposite her, pulling out her own packed lunch.

"Still avoiding Matthew, I see?" she said, indicating how low she was in her seat.

"I'm hoping _he's_ avoiding _me_ ," Mary said. "I haven't seen him in here yet."

"I wouldn't blame him, with the scowl on your face. You look ready to kill whoever approaches."

"It's my greatest weapon," she said sardonically, then groaned. "Oh, God, help us."

Anna turned, expecting to see Matthew Crawley approaching after all, but it was only Ethel. She was grinning manically.

"Scored," she announced as she flopped down on Anna's other side.

"Who with?" Anna asked in amusement.

"Oh, with both Darren and Josh," she said. "Darren is the policeman, and Josh is the fireman."

"So how are you going to decide which one to go for? Is one beating the other yet?"

"Not yet," she said. "Darren is better looking, but I think Josh has a bit of a bad boy edge, and I like that."

"It's not always a good thing, though," Anna warned. That was precisely what had attracted her to Charles Bryant. Someone steadier would probably be a good influence on her, but she would have to come to that realisation on her own terms.

"And what about you?" asked Ethel, popping a crisp into her mouth. "Are those army guys fit? I haven't seen them yet."

"Mary doesn't think so," she said. "One of them is her father's best friend. The other is a bit young."

"Hmm." Ethel pursed her lips in mock-contemplation. "That throws something else into the mix. Older men are usually great in bed. They've got a bit more experience and by that point they're so grateful to you for shagging them that they'll do absolutely anything for you. How young is the other?"

Anna shrugged. "Maybe about twenty, twenty-one."

"And he has the virility of youth. You'd be at it at all hours with someone like that. Tough choice."

"There's no choice to have," Anna giggled. "Private Mason is too young for my tastes."

"So you'd go for the great sex with experience."

"I never said that. I just made an observation. I wouldn't really be interested in a toyboy."

"Ah, but you said that _Mary_ doesn't think they're fit. You made no mention of yourself. What does that tell me?"

"It tells you nothing, other than I'm not biased against Sergeant Bates just because of how close he is to Robert."

"Keep telling yourself that," said Ethel.

"Can we change the subject?" Mary asked grumpily.

"If you want. Are you going to watch that prison documentary tonight?" said Anna.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ethel muttered, and dived into her phone.

"What?" said Anna. "If Mary stopped being a grouch…"

The voice behind them cut her off. "Hello."

All three of them whirled around in unison, Mary's face darkening further.

Matthew.

He stood behind them as if he wasn't quite certain that he hadn't walked towards the gallows. As unpleasant as the situation could turn out to be, Anna had to suppress a snort of laughter; she had never seen a more terrified man. Mary was going to eat him alive.

"Do-do you think we can talk?" he said.

"Be my guest," said Ethel.

"No," snapped Mary, shooting her a venomous look. "There's nothing left to say."

"I think there's a great deal more to say." Matthew's voice quivered, but he stood tall. "Please, Mary, let's go somewhere we can talk."

"No," she said again.

"Very well. I'll do it here, in front of everyone."

"You will not!"

"Watch me. I won't stand by silently, not anymore."

May glowered, but Anna touched her knee.

"Go," she murmured. "Just hear him out."

"Why should I!?"

"I'm not saying you have to do anything. But isn't it better to do it in privacy rather than in front of us all? You don't want an audience, trust me."

Mary looked as if she was going to stubbornly resist, but she must have seen the determined look in Matthew's eyes that let them all know that he wasn't bluffing, for she jerked her head.

"My classroom," she said tersely. "Five minutes. I'm timing."

Matthew nodded, waiting while she rose. She swept across the room like a storm cloud, a gulf between their bodies. For a brief moment, Anna felt sorry for the young man.

Ethel punched her arm as soon as they'd gone. "What did you do that for?"

What did _you_ do _that_ for?" she retorted reproachfully, rubbing the sore spot.

"Oh, come on, that was going to be the best entertainment the staffroom has ever seen! I had the popcorn ready to go!"

"You know something? You can be so bloody insensitive sometimes," said Anna, and refused to speak again until the bell rang to signal the start of the afternoon. Ethel flounced off without a backwards glance. Mary and Matthew had not returned. Anna wasn't sure if that should worry her or not. She had visions of Mary murdering him and hiding his dead body somewhere on the grounds.

"Can I walk with you, Miss Smith?"

She jumped, and she spun around to find Sergeant Bates standing behind her. She flushed as Ethel's candid words about an older man's sexual prowess slipped inadvertently into her mind. Christ, what was wrong with her?

"What?" she squeaked.

He chuckled. "You said that you're sitting in on our next talk. I was wondering if you'd walk with me now. William has gone ahead to make sure everything is in order. He's better at the technology side than I am. Bit of a dinosaur, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure you're not," she said, pulling herself together. "Yes, of course we can walk together. Sorry, I was miles away then."

"Thinking about Mary and Matthew?" he asked as she gathered her things together. "I saw them leaving."

"How well do you know them?"

"I don't know Matthew very well, but he always seemed like a fine young man on the occasions that I met him, and Robert loves him like a son. He was in a mood for weeks when they broke up."

"How much do you know about it?"

"Not much. I didn't ask too many questions. I prefer not to get involved in those kinds of things, and I had enough on my own plate." He did not answer her questioning look, and Anna thought it best not to press.

"I wish I could have had that luxury sometimes," she said instead. "But it comes with the territory of being Mary's best friend."

"Do you think there's any way back for them?" he said. The air was brisk as they stepped back outside, and they hurried around the quad, dodging between the masses of students as they surged towards their next classes.

Anna shrugged. "God knows."

They fell into a comfortable silence the rest of the way, and he gave her a little smile as they parted at the classroom door. Anna took her place at the back, settling down to observe as twenty curious boys and girls waited to hear the next talk in this career day.

"Good afternoon, everyone," John began. "I know it's always difficult to concentrate after a good feed, so we'll try and keep this as interesting as possible. We don't want to put you to sleep. My name is Sergeant John Bates."

"And I'm Private William Mason."

"We're not here to try to get you to sign up to the army. We're just here to give you all the facts. Most of you will probably leave here thinking that you'd rather do anything else in the world but this. Maybe one or two of you will decide you've found your calling. Don't worry, we're not going to ask you for a raise of hands."

"We're not here to throw statistics at you, either. I think the army, maybe more so than any other kind of job, is all about a personal calling. Of finding that something inside that just clicks. Sergeant Bates and I are going to tell you our own personal stories."

They made a good team, Anna thought. Flowed well around each other, had a good, strong energy. It was clear from the way that the kids were sitting that they were engaged with the dynamics, no mean feat against how difficult they could sometimes be.

"I guess we'll start with me," said John, clicking a button on the laptop. The welcoming first slide of the presentation disappeared to be replaced by a photograph.

Laughter rose up.

"Yes, I know," he said good-naturedly. "I look bloody awful. In fairness to me, everyone looked terrible in the eighties."

"You look like a bad porn star, sir!" one lad hollered. The laughter swelled again.

"That 'tache is the worst thing I've ever seen!"

"What's with the long hair?"

John took the banter with a smile. Anna stifled her own smile behind her hand. It wasn't the most flattering picture she had ever seen. The John Bates in the photo couldn't be more than seventeen. His hair tumbled in thick curls down to his shoulders, and his facial hair was impressive for someone so young. He was dressed in some leather disaster. Anna determinedly tried to focus her attention on his face, because those tight trousers left nothing to the imagination, even in black and white. He looked moodily out, perhaps a tribute to Jim Morrison.

Still, it was easy to see, even from such a ridiculous picture, just how he had matured into the man he was today. He might have been enough for _her_ seventeen year old self to feel the very first stirrings of interest had they been around at the same time.

She consciously stopped herself from thinking him handsome, as he stood there before her in real time, soulful eyes twinkling. It was just Ethel's stupid words, putting ideas in her head. It was because of all the stupid sex talk, subconsciously making her realise just how long it had been.

"So, this was me," John continued. "Back then, I was just leaving school. I went on to university, to study English, as it happens. I got my degree, and then I was stuck. I wasn't really sure what else to do. I hadn't given it enough thought. And then life happened. I needed something stable, if not secure in terms of my life. I had moved from Ireland as a child, then from Scotland down to London, so I was not a stranger to the nomadic lifestyle. Joining the army was my chance to see the world and try to make it a better place at the same time. So I enlisted."

He clicked again, and the picture dissolved into another, this time of John with a group of other young men. All seemed to be dressed in fresh, crisp uniform, baby-faced, innocently ready to take on the world. Anna spied Robert Crawley to John's left, a curly mop of hair beneath his hat, a wide, toothy grin in contrast to John's solemnness. John had short hair now, and was clean shaven. It certainly suited him better.

"My story is a little different," said William, stepping forward. Now the picture of John was replaced by one of a gangly young lad who did not seem to fit into his school uniform. "Unlike Sergeant Bates, I didn't go to university. In fact, I failed my exams. I felt stupid. I felt like a failure. I felt as if all my prospects had slipped away from me. I couldn't get the job I wanted because it required qualifications. My parents tried to encourage me down another route, into the manual labour sector. I went with it because I felt it was the least I owed them, but I wasn't really happy. It wasn't what I wanted to do. Which was when I saw the advertisement for the army. I had never really given it a thought before, but it stirred something in me."

The picture changed again, transitioning to one of William standing tall and proud in his new uniform; now he really did seem to fit.

"I'd never been away from home before," he continued. "But I grew into it. I became a new man. I felt like I belonged. The army doesn't care if you come with a PhD or nothing. Every man is only worth what he brings to the table, and by the end of training, you're surrounded by men who are brothers, who would lay down their lives in a heartbeat for you. It's a humbling thought."

"What's the training like?" asked one of the boys, Jace.

"The hardest thing you'll probably ever do," answered John. "It's gruelling. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Sometimes you'll wonder what the hell you're doing. Sometimes you'll want to hate those above you because they can treat you tough. It's those very things that will show you what you're really made of. Work hard, and there's no limit to what you can achieve."

"You'll see things that you never thought you'd see and do things you'd never thought you'd do."

"Is it hard to fit back into civilian life?" asked Jessica.

"It depends. It can be very difficult. There have been times when I've been at home and I've felt so disconnected from everyone around me. That's probably the hardest thing of all, your loved ones not being able to truly understand just what you've seen and been through. Sometimes you feel so alone, and don't feel yourself again until you're back with your comrades."

How often did they feel like that, Anna wondered. Both men seemed confident and composed here, but were they masks to hide their true feelings? She'd seen enough of war simply through the TV on the evening news, reports of deaths and destruction seemingly every day from Afghanistan. It was almost unbearable for her to think about it now; God knew how much more difficult it must be to live with it every single day. And how must it be for those families left behind, fearing every day when they turned on the telly that they would see their son's or husband's or father's face staring out at them, gone forever?

"Have you ever killed someone?" asked Billy, rather tactlessly. All eyes were riveted on the two army men.

"There's no getting out of that, no matter how much you might want to," John said slowly.

"Must make you feel good, though, wiping out the bad guys!"

"It's not always as simple as that," said William. "Things aren't just black and white. You're doing something wrong if you ever feel good about wiping out another human life. We're doing our duties, but it's not easy."

"I realise that we're running out of time now, so we'd better summarise," said John. "The army really is a fantastic prospect for anyone from any walk of life, man or woman. It's the chance to do some good in the world and maybe even help to bring peace to conflicted land. It gives you the chance to travel and gives you the chance to push yourself to the limit. The work is often varied and exciting. It is far from easy, but if you can hack it, the rewards are huge. And we're always looking for young, dedicated new recruits. You guys could be our future."

"Do you have any more questions?" William asked the room.

Several hands shot up at once. Anna watched as the two men worked their way around them, speaking baldly about their own experiences. The kids would appreciate that. Most were more worldly than any fifteen year old should be.

"What about the uniform?" asked TJ when it was his turn, ever the class clown. "Does it help you score all the hot chicks?"

Peals of laughter rang out at that. Typical. It had been going so well.

But rather than get flustered, the two men only grinned.

"I don't know anything about that, I'm afraid," said William. "I already have a girlfriend."

"Did you not meet her when you were in the uniform?"

"Oh, no. We were together before I joined the army."

"That sucks," said TJ. "What about you, sergeant? Did you pull all the fit birds?"

Instinctively, Anna's eyes flitted down to John's left hand. No wedding band glittered there. Of course, that didn't mean anything. Not every couple got married these days.

"I'm a bit past my sell by date in that respect, I'm afraid," he said good-naturedly.

"Bet there are some MILFs out there who'd want you, though!"

"I have no idea what that means, but I'm going to take it as a compliment."

"You should, sir. It means—"

"All right, that's more than enough," interrupted Anna firmly. "If that's the end of the sensible questions, then I think we should leave it there. There's only a minute left, anyway."

A chorus of groans rang out, students pleading to stay and hear more.

"No," she repeated. "You've got to hear the fire brigade's talk next. Now, come on, time's up."

The kids dragged their feet with many sullen looks. Anna ignored them, waiting for the last one to pass before turning to address the two men.

"Thank you so much for this," she said. "It was very, very interesting, and very inspiring too."

John cast her a boyish grin that made his eyes crinkle. "I'm glad you think so. I take it that you enjoyed it too?"

"I did. Very much so."

They held each other's gazes for a moment, until a bang from William startled them. Shaking her head, Anna turned away, moving towards the door so she could catch up with the rest of her class.

She had a feeling that John Bates was staring after her as she went.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and soon the bell for home time was ringing. Thank God. She'd almost forgotten about her car troubles in the events of the day, but still needed to get it to a garage. At least it was the Easter break. She had a bit of time to sort out her affairs.

Collecting her things together, she made her way towards the staffroom, where she had agreed to meet Mary. Passing teachers wished her a good break, and she returned the sentiment, already thinking longingly of the days of lie-ins she had in front of her.

Mary was nowhere in sight when she arrived, so she loitered about, waiting. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen. Just where was she? Mary was not usually one for hanging about when school was finished, much like the kids themselves. She made small talk with Joseph Molesley as he sat in the corner finishing up some marking.

Five minutes after, the door opened. Sure it would be Mary, Anna turned with a beam.

It was John.

"Oh, hello," she said.

"Not who you were expecting to see?" he chuckled. He had a huge backpack thrown casually over one shoulder. "I just popped in to say goodbye."

"Goodbye. It was lovely to meet you."

"You too. Take care of yourself."

"I think I should be the one saying that to you."

"I've done okay so far."

She giggled. Before he could go, she said, "I don't suppose you've seen Mary around, have you?"

"Mary?" he frowned. "Yes, I have. She left with Matthew."

Anna's eyebrows shot up. "With _Matthew_!?"

"That's what I thought too. Make what you will of that. Did you need her for something?"

She sighed. "She was supposed to be giving me a lift home. My car broke down this morning. I suppose I'll just have to catch the bus." That was the last thing she wanted.

Joseph's head popped up at once, like an eager puppy's. "I'll give you a lift!"

"No, no, that's fine," she said hurriedly. "I'll be all right on the bus."

"I don't mind."

His face was bright with hope and anticipation, and she felt an uncomfortable prickle at the back of her neck under John's shrewd gaze. She did not want to encourage Joseph, nice as he was. "No, really. You're in completely the opposite direction to me. I'll see you after the holidays."

Joseph looked crestfallen, but she tried not to notice. Gathering her things, she bid both men another goodbye and hurried out of the room.

She'd barely made it halfway down the corridor before there were footsteps behind her, and she cursed inwardly. Why did he have to be so tenacious? Why did he always make her feel like a bitch when she let him down gently?

"Joe—" she began, then stopped short.

John. He gave her that same boyish grin, hitching his backpack up higher.

"I was wondering if you'd concede to _me_ giving you a lift," he said.

"No, thank you. I couldn't possibly. I can't put people out of their way."

"How do you know if you are? You don't even know where I'm going."

"Trust me, it's not going to be where I am."

"Which means it's towards the less desirable end of town."

"How do you make that out?"

He shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

"No," she conceded grudgingly.

"As it so happens, that's the way I'm heading too. I'm going to see my mother. We've both just moved to the area from London."

The news surprised her. "Have you? And you've moved into the less savoury end of Downton? That must be quite the difference."

He had the grace to look abashed. "Well, we're not staying there. It's just while the last few bits from the old house are brought up. I'm hoping we can be moved in before I go back to Afghanistan. It would ease my mind."

"I'm sure it would." She hesitated a moment. "I'd still think it an impertinence to accept your offer."

"You shouldn't. That's the whole point. I offered. I wouldn't have if I didn't want to. Please don't feel pressured into saying yes, but I can't imagine much worse than the bus service. It's never on time and then three turn up at once."

She couldn't deny the truth of that. She hesitated a moment longer, weighing up the pros and cons. She had never got into a car with a strange man before. It was a message imprinted on the female population's brains, such was the nature of the world. Even benign men could turn into monsters, pull off their masks.

And yet there seemed to be something innately trustworthy about John Bates. He was Robert Crawley's best friend, for one thing, and despite her thorny exterior, Mary clearly thought the world of him. He had a soft smile, kind eyes, a gentle manner. Sometimes they were dummies, but there was an instinct within her, something that called to her.

"All right," she said.

John smiled at her. "Can I take your bag?"

"No, that's okay. I've got it."

He nodded, and together they made their way towards the exit.

"Where's Private Mason?" she asked as they walked.

"He's gone on ahead," said John. "He lives over in Pickering. He's anxious to get back home. He's a brilliant young lad, but he does get homesick."

"That's only natural."

"Oh, of course. And he's very close to his parents. This is the first time he's ever been away from home. Here we are."

They'd come to a stop by a Ford Discovery. John unlocked it and threw his things in the back. Anna clambered up into the passenger seat.

"I've never been in anything this big before," she commented.

"Sorry. I've got so used to driving the army lorries that I can't manage anything smaller. Mother hates it because she can hardly get in."

"I know the feeling," she said, and he shot her an amused, sideways glance as he turned the key in the ignition.

"Give me directions," he said as he started to pull off.

They drove in silence for a few minutes after her confirmation of a right turn and to carry on straight.

"So," she said, "how did the rest of the afternoon go?"

"Great, thanks. I'm surprised we got so much engagement. Although we'll have to wait and see if it really does inspire anyone."

"I think it will. I think you gave them a glimpse of another life."

"It's not completely glamorous, I hope they know that."

"If anyone knows that, it's our kids. Most of them have had plenty of troubles in their times."

"It must be rewarding when they go on to achieve great things."

"It is. Very rewarding indeed. Turn left here."

"Are you from Downton yourself?" he asked as he followed her instructions.

"No, I moved here as a teen. I started babysitting for the Crawley girls to earn extra cash, and my friendship with Mary bloomed from there. She's younger than I am but you wouldn't know it."

John chuckled. "I didn't get to do it often, but Mary made me feel like the child when I looked after her, never mind me being a fully grown adult. Do you think it's a good sign, that she and Matthew have gone off together?"

Anna shrugged. "I hope so. She's been miserable without him. Keep that one under your hat."

"On my honour."

"But she's stubborn. I'm not sure how easy it will be to sort things. I can believe she's digging a hole to hide his body as much as I can believe they're talking things through."

John snorted. "He's a braver man than I am, Gunga Din."

They lapsed back into silence, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. How was it that she could feel like that around someone she had only just met? She'd grown and fought past the things in her childhood, but even then she still felt like a deer in front of a wolf when alone in the company of a man she did not yet know.

There was something about John's gentle demeanour that was different.

"Now right, and we're there," she said absently, then felt compelled to add, "don't expect much. It's not exactly Beverley Hills." Steve had never wanted to visit her in the flat. He always said that he couldn't leave the car because he was sure it would be hotwired overnight. He'd been insisting almost daily that she move in with him at the end, probably going back to that same home to screw Sarah Anderson in the bed that he'd been intending she share full time. Mary, too, always turned her nose up. A job like the army would pay a decent stipend, as he'd said himself, enough to afford more than a pokey flat on the poorest fringes of the town. She did not want his pity—or worse, to see disgust flicker across his face.

But John gave no indication of discomfort as he turned into the dilapidated cul-de-sac. As he turned off the ignition, he said, "Here we are, milady."

"Thank you so much for this. I really appreciate it."

"Not at all. Glad to be of assistance. Can I carry anything for you?"

"No, I can manage." Anna fumbled for the door handle, pushing it open. She clambered out with less grace than she'd wanted. He grinned at her.

"Goodbye, Anna," he said. "Perhaps I'll see you around sometime."

There was a look of disguised hope on his face. Anna felt her heart stutter. "I'd like that. Very much. How much longer until you go back?"

"I've got another ten days. It'll be enough time to get Mother settled into the new house, I hope."

"I don't suppose you'll have much time for anything else. Are you seeing the Crawleys?"

"Probably not much this time. I'll see Rob as soon as I go back to Afghanistan, and the others know I'm busy with this move." He hesitated. "But I will probably go out in the evening to get my bearings when the work is done for the day. I don't know the area at all, and I would like to have some sense of it before I come home for Christmas."

She brightened. "You'll be in England for Christmas?"

"Yes. My first one home in six years. I can hardly wait, to be honest."

"I love Christmas. All that good food and drink is heaven to me, never mind what it'll be like to you."

"I don't drink, but you're right. I'll feel like a king at a feast when I come home."

There was a closed-off look on his face, and although she was curious to know more about this man, she knew better than to pry into the past if it was a place that he didn't want to go. God knew she knew what that was like.

Reverting back to the original topic, she said, "Would you like a tour guide on your explorations? I know Downton and the surrounding areas very well, even if I do say so myself."

John blinked at her. For a moment, she thought she'd done the wrong thing. But then a tentative smile broke out across his face.

"That would be lovely," he said.

"Great. Here." She rummaged in her handbag and brought out a pen and a scrap of paper, scribbling her number across it. "Drop me a line, and we can arrange something, if you'd like. I have no real concreate plans for these holidays, so you wouldn't be intruding. That's if you want the company, of course. Please feel free to tell me to take my hook."

He took the proffered paper. She noticed his fingers were shaking slightly.

"That would be lovely," he repeated.

Anna tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Great. Thanks again, John."

"Not a problem. Bye, Anna."

She raised her hand in farewell and crossed the street to her bottom floor flat. He waited until she'd got herself in before he made to go. Anna watched until his car could no longer be seen. Then she turned away, wondering what had come over her to make her act so boldly, wondering what it was about John Bates that seemed to reach inside and speak to her.

She hoped she was given the opportunity to find out.

* * *

In the end, John Bates took her up on her offer to show him about the place. Anna ignored the little spark she felt inside herself as she read the text on her phone, his confirmation that he would love a tour guide. She was being silly. It would be nice to have a friend in him, that was all.

And he was a friend. She felt that she could call him that, even in such a small space of time. She showed him all of the local hotspots: the park, though it was more of a drug addict's haven than a child's idea of heaven; the best pub, the Dog and Duck, though of course he did not drink; the local shops, though they did not boast much—they had to travel further afield, to Ripon or Thirsk or the nearby city of York if they wanted anything more substantial.

On that Easter break, Anna found herself spending more time with him than anyone else. At the Crawleys' Easter celebration, she was locked into conversation with him for the whole afternoon, and they slipped out early together to get something more substantial than Cora's picky canapés. Eating fish and chips on a local park bench decorated with used needles at their feet, they spoke about anything and everything. John offered up a few more details of his nomadic childhood, and Anna found herself confiding in him about her own unconventional one. Not the details. Never those details. But enough so that he knew there was a kinship between them, that she could be trusted. She wanted him so desperately to trust her.

That meeting on the bench led to more texts, more meetings. A trip to the cinema because he hadn't been in years and had forgotten what it was like to sit in the dark and forget the world's troubles for a while. A meal out, just to indulge in the simplicity of it. Sitting on the wall outside her dilapidated little flat, heads tilted back as they pointed out the constellations they could see through the smoggy clouds, at peace under the open space.

He was good company. He was kind, he was gentle, he could make her laugh like no one else had for a long time, not even Mary.

How was it possible for a friendship to bloom so quickly?

And yet it had. And she didn't want to question it.

Those ten days passed far too quickly. On that last night, at the winding down of another Crawley gathering, she wound her arms around him, pressed a kiss to his cheek that made her tingle, and whispered, "Stay safe."

"I will," he replied. "And I'll be back at Christmas. I'll see you then?"

"Yes," she said. When she got home, she turned her calendar to December and circled the twenieth in large red circles, hoping that through some miracle they could pick up where they had left off.

She needn't have worried. Almost three weeks later, a letter in an unfamiliar hand landed on her doormat. Curiosity piqued, she opened it.

John.

John had written to her.

She wrote back. They filled those months without verbal communication with words instead, seamlessly interacting as if they had been doing it for a lifetime. His words made her laugh. She sought to do the same. There could be so little reason to smile out there in the middle of a bitter conflict. If she could do anything to bring him even a brief moment of respite, she was willing to do it.

The little ember that had flickered inside her heart stuttered.

Plumed into life.

Anna would not acknowledge what it meant. Not yet. Not aloud. Not in such a short space of time. But she knew all the same, in the deepest crevice of her soul, in the tiniest corner of her heart.

* * *

 _December_

The twentieth of December came and went. She'd received a text from John to say that he was home safely, but that was it. She suspected that he was exhausted, and was spending a couple of days recharging his batteries. Anna couldn't blame him for that. He'd need it.

On the twenty-third, just as she was pulling her hair back into a messy ponytail so she could start some Christmas baking, there was a knock on the door. She frowned. She wasn't expecting any visitors.

When she pulled it open, her heart swooped and almost stopped. The most wonderful sight of all was before her eyes.

" _John!"_ she yelled, her voice echoing in the empty street. "Oh my God! Oh my God!"

He laughed as she threw herself into his arms, almost lifting her off her feet as he swept her closer. She squeezed him tight, relishing his solidity, his strength and broadness almost overwhelming.

"Hello to you too," he teased.

"Why didn't you say you were coming, you silly beggar?" she demanded.

"I wanted to surprise you. Did I?"

"This is the best Christmas surprise I could have wished for!" She squeezed him tighter, turning her head into his neck so she could breathe in the scent of his skin. He always smelled so good, of cigarette smoke and musky aftershave and something undeniably masculine that she couldn't put her finger on.

"I don't even think my mother greeted me with such enthusiasm," he said. "I'm flattered."

"Do you want to come in?"

"I don't want to interrupt you."

"Does it look like I'm doing anything that can be interrupted?" she countered, gesturing down at herself.

"You look gorgeous," he replied, and the sincerity in his voice made her flush. Made her heart beat just that bit faster.

"Now who's being charming?" she babbled. "Come on, you."

He followed her over the threshold, toeing off his shoes. There was a light dusting of snow in his thick, dark hair, and his nose was bright red. He shrugged off his thick overcoat and scarf, and Anna took them and placed them in the cupboard to air off.

"Do you want a drink?" she said. "I bought some gingerbread latté to fit in with the season."

"Gingerbread latté? That sounds revolting."

"So you want an ordinary tea?"

"No, I want to try one. I'm intrigued."

She giggled. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be five minutes."

He nodded, settling himself down on her sofa. He looked almost too big to be there, filling the whole space. She lingered on him for a moment, before turning away, a sudden lump in her throat. God, she had missed him. How was it possible to have missed someone as much as she had missed him? He had imprinted himself on her heart so quickly, like a footprint in the fresh snow outside.

Composing herself, she made the lattés and grabbed a packet of chocolate biscuits shaped like reindeer. John rose to pluck one of the mugs from her hand, smiling.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome. How have you been?"

"Tired. I pretty much slept the first day away. Yesterday I went Christmas shopping with my mother. She loves piling the plates high at this time of the year."

"That's lovely. I love a good Christmas dinner. I thought you might have been going to the Crawleys'."

"No. I wanted a quiet Christmas with my mother. I've said I'll go up for the New Year's party, which I'm dreading already."

"Are you not a partier, then?" she teased.

"God, no. If I had it my way, I'd sit with a good book all night. That sounds terribly dull, I know."

"As an English teacher, I love the idea. Besides, I suspect quiet evenings are hard to come by."

"That they are. What are your plans for the New Year?"

"I'll be going to the Crawleys' too, so I'll be seeing you there. And perhaps we could organise a couple of days to do something together before you're expected back at the front? Unless you're already spoken for. I know you're going to be in popular demand."

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," he said, filching one of the chocolate reindeer from the packet. "I expect you're going to be with your family at Christmas?"

Anna's breathing hitched. It was the one question she always dreaded. At the time of the year for goodwill and peace on earth, people always assumed there were joyous family times for everyone. Not so for her. It was never so. She'd been twelve on the last Christmas where she had been truly happy with her family. She hadn't spent Christmas with her mum since she had turned eighteen and had declared herself old enough to make her own decisions. The awkward phone conversations were bad enough. Usually, she spent Christmas with Mary's family, de facto Crawley as she almost was, but something had stopped her this year. Robert and Cora had the happiest of happy marriages. Mary and Matthew were back together, Sybil had her Tom. Edith had just found someone after her last relationship, and this one seemed like a keeper. She had no wish to feel alone in the crowd, surrounded by so many happy couples who had found their other halves.

She refused to wallow on Christmas Day—that simply wasn't who she was—but this year, just for one year, she longed to be able to do as she pleased, to sit inside and watch cheesy Christmas films, to probably drink far too much sherry, and to let her mask slip. Just for once, she didn't want to have to be constantly strong.

At last, she admitted, "No, I'm not going home for Christmas. I'm staying here in Downton."

She was relieved when he didn't press for more information; usually, people wanted to know what her family was doing that meant they couldn't be together for the holidays. An expensive cruise around the Mediterranean, perhaps. A skiing trip. Not a stepfather's filthy wandering hands and a fiercely wielded kitchen knife.

"Are you going to the Crawleys', then?" he asked.

Reluctantly, she shook her head. "Not this year. I was rather fancying a quiet Christmas alone. I'm sure you know how raucous their dos get."

Now John did frown at her. "Alone?"

"There's nothing wrong in it, you know," she said, more defensively than she had intended. I'm not going to be moping. And I have Leo for company."

On cue, the fat cat waddled into the room. He stopped short upon seeing John, his tail flicking, as if he was trying to weigh up whether he was trustworthy or not. John chuckled.

"I never meant to imply anything," he said. "I'm sorry if I caused offence. And I quite agree, cats are very good company. Mother has one, and she wouldn't be without him. I swear she thinks of him as more of a son than she does me. To be fair, he is there for her more than I am."

"Don't say that," she protested. "You're doing such a courageous service for the whole country."

"I was only joking. Not a very good one, I'm afraid. I bet you haven't missed my self-deprecation one bit."

"I missed all of you, John Bates."

The words were out of her mouth before her brain could register how stupid they were. They seemed to thicken the air until it was possible to choke on it. Leo meowed anxiously, winding round her legs. She hefted him up into her arms, burying her face into his fur to hide her face. Christ, what had she said that for?

John cleared his throat, draining his mug. Probably to give him time to plot his great escape.

He surprised her, therefore, with his next words. "I actually came round to ask you what you were doing for Christmas to see if you would like to spend it with me and Mother."

"What?" she said softly.

He shifted, a little uncomfortably. "Well, I would never have wanted you to undo any plans to see your friends and family, but I thought I would see anyway. And now you've told me that you'll be spending it here…well, Mother and I would love to have you if you'd like to join us."

Anna blinked. Spend Christmas with John and his mother? To share that special day with him, probably laughing and joking, falling into the easy rhythm that seemed solely reserved for when the two of them were together? It sounded heavenly.

Dangerous.

She did not dwell on that.

"What about Leo?" she asked tentatively. "It's kind, but I couldn't leave him here on his own all day."

"Bring him too," he said promptly. "I assure you, Tiger—yes, I know—doesn't have a nasty bone in his body, and he's an old man now. I doubt he could drag himself into a fight even if he wanted to. I don't know what Leo is like with other cats…"

"Soft as a brush," she said, scratching him behind his ears. He started to purr loudly. "And a total wimp. He'd be no good as my great protector, I tell you. I had a mouse in here once, and it chased _him_."

John snorted. "Then they'll get along spectacularly. Don't feel pressured into saying yes if you'd rather do your own thing. We wouldn't be offended. But the offer is there should you wish to take it, and we'd be delighted to have you."

"A-All right," she stammered. "That sounds wonderful. What time should I come?"

John's face absolutely lit up at her acceptance. "Anytime you like. No time is too early. Just come when you're ready. And don't worry about bringing anything. We've got everything we could possibly need."

"Okay," she managed. John put his mug down and stood up, stretching to his full height.

"I'll see you on Christmas Day," he murmured, leaning in to brush a kiss against her cheek. Her whole insides twisted and turned like live snakes. It cost her every inch of self-control she had not to turn her head and let him catch her mouth instead. When he pulled back, he scratched Leo behind the ears, making him trill happily. "See you, mate."

Anna dropped him into the armchair and followed John to the door, leaning against the doorjamb as he replaced his outer layers.

"How was your gingerbread latté, anyway?" she said.

"Bloody awful," he responded cheerfully. "See you soon, Anna."

"See you soon," she echoed, leaning against the door as he stepped outside into the snow that was coming faster. She watched him disappear into the bleak afternoon, unable to stop the grin that grew as the happiness inside expanded right across her chest. There he went, her very own angel sent to save her.

Shaking her head at her own maudlin sappiness, she shut the door with a bang and ventured back into the warmth of her little sitting room. Leo trilled at her reappearance, flopping over onto his side like an overstuffed king.

"I know, darling," she said absently, moving to stroke his round tummy. "I know."

* * *

Anna was up at the crack of dawn on Christmas Day. After showering and washing her hair in all of the most expensive products she owned, she tramped back into the bedroom to find something suitable to wear.

It proved to be a difficult choice.

Items were brought out and dismissed, held up again, dismissed again, until she had the entire contents of her wardrobe scattered all over her room. Leo roamed on the strips of carpet just visible beneath the explosion, having the time of his life as he chose various garments to sprawl out on briefly before something else caught his attention. At last, she settled on a woollen, wine coloured dress that came to just above her knees, reasoning that it was the right colour for the season and wasn't something that would give Old Mrs. Bates a heart attack or give any indication that she was out to snare her son. She matched it with a pair of thick black tights and a crimson necklace, adding a pair of pretty ruby droppers from her ears. She kept her make up conservative, how she preferred it anyway, and added several spritzes of perfume for good measure.

Even then, it was only just past eight. Anna fidgeted nervously. John had said that she could come any time, but that was rather taking the mick. What could she do to pass the time?

After pacing the floor and watching the clock only made her more nervous than ever, she finally decided to put her time to good use. John had said she didn't need to bring anything, but she did not like the idea of turning up empty-handed. She had already put out a couple of bottles to take alongside the last minute gifts she had purchased as a thank you. She would like something to go with them.

Tying an apron around her waist, she set to work. Gingerbread was always a safe bet at Christmas. Leo twined around her legs as she worked, begging futilely for scraps, and by half past ten she had a large stack of neatly decorated biscuits, shaped like all manner of Christmassy symbols. Now was surely an acceptable time to drive across town. That way, she could assist with the Christmas dinner instead of leaving it all to the hosts. Once she was kitted out in hat, scarf, gloves, and coat, she made her way outside.

It took her two trips to get everything loaded into the car, Leo stored carefully on the front seat in his carrier. The snow was turning to slush on the roads, and she drove slowly across town, mindful of any lethal ice patches that could be lurking.

Twenty minutes later, she pulled up outside a modestly decorated house, lights dancing warmly in the windows. She pulled behind John's Discovery on the driveway. She eased Leo out, deciding it would have to be made in two journeys again, and crunched up the driveway. Taking a breath to steady herself, she raised a hand and rang the doorbell.

John's shadow appeared a few seconds later. Her heart palpitated as she watched him unlock the door through the frosted glass, and then he was standing before her. She burst into peals of laughter. She couldn't help herself.

"What on earth have you got on?" she said.

He gave himself an unamused glance. "Mother insisted."

He was wearing a garish red Christmas jumper, decorated with Christmas puddings. It was one of the worst monstrosities she had ever seen.

"It certainly fits Christmas," she said. It was the only compliment she could think of.

He snorted. "I look like a mad man. If any of the guys could see me like this they'd have a field day. Promise me that no matter what you do, you won't tell Mary about this. I'll never hear the end of it."

"Scout's honour," she said. She'd never been in the scouts, but the sentiment was there.

"Thank you. And I'm so sorry I've been so rude and not invited you over the doorstep yet. Please, come in. Give Leo here."

"I've got some other things in the car," she said, handing the heavy carrier over gratefully.

His eyes widened. "What else could you possibly be bringing?"

"Just a few bits and bobs. Take Leo through. I can manage them on my own."

He nodded uncertainly, and she traipsed back to her car, gathering the rest of her things. By the time she'd done that, John had followed her down the drive, his eyes anxious.

"You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble," he said.

"Hush, Sergeant Bates. I wanted to."

"We didn't invite you over for that. We just wanted you to have a nice time."

"I know that, silly beggar. Since you're here now, you can carry this." She thrust the container of biscuits at his chest, and he caught it, blinking in bemusement. She waited for him to turn back up the path and followed him.

"Mother!" he called when they were both over the threshold and had kicked their shoes off. "Anna is here!"

"I figured as much when you left the front door wide open and let all the cold air blow through!" was the reply, in a thick Irish accent. "You've gone and made the place as cold as the Arctic, Johnny."

John looked pained, glancing down at her. "I told her not to call me that while you were here. She never listens."

"I think it's rather cute," she teased.

"It's not cute. It makes me sound like a ten year old boy. She's just never grown out of the nickname."

"Well, you always will be her little boy," Anna said in amusement; these days, there was nothing little about John Bates.

"What's all this?"

At that moment, a little old woman appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Her grey hair was scraped back in a bun, and she was wearing another Christmas jumper over her robust frame, hers decorated in dancing snowmen, another glaring monstrosity that couldn't help but bring a smile to Anna's face. It was clear where John's looks had come from; he might be a Bates, but his features were all his mother's. Identical sets of dark eyes, wide, lovely cheeks, the high, delicate brow. Definitely the look of the Irish, and very aesthetically pleasing at that.

Those dark eyes were appraising now as Mrs. Bates looked her up and down. Anna tried to stand taller, though still standing next to John, she felt as if she was in a giant's shadow. Perhaps she should have left her heels on for the introductions. She felt John's hand, warm and comforting, at the small of her back, barely ghosting across her.

"Mother," he said, "this is Anna Smith. Anna, this is my mother, Margaret."

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Bates," she babbled, trying to shift the things in her arms around a little so that she could offer her hand. Mrs. Bates took it, the faintest hint of suspicion in her eyes.

"Margaret, please," she murmured. "How do you do, Miss Smith?"

"Anna, please," she returned quickly. "I feel like I'm still at school otherwise. It's so lovely to meet you at last. John has spoken a great deal about you." It wasn't entirely accurate. John was quiet at the best of times, and he hadn't offered up too many details about his life before he'd come to Downton, but it was clear that he thought the world of his mother, who had raised him alone. That was a good testimony as far as Anna was concerned, especially in comparison with her own.

"That's interesting to hear," said Margaret, "because Johnny hasn't told me a thing about you. I thought he was just being his usual irritating self. I keep telling him that women aren't really keen on mystery, but it goes straight in one ear and out the other with him."

Anna giggled uncertainly, not sure how she should feel about the fact that John seemed reluctant to talk about her. On the one hand, it could mean that he might not think that their bond was as important as she thought it was. On the other…

Maybe he was reluctant to talk about it because it meant something more. Because he felt something for her but was wary of upsetting the balance and uncertain of how she might feel.

Her heart flipped.

"Mother, that's enough," he said now, rather sharply. "Don't start. Why don't we go through to the sitting room? We can't stand in the hall all day."

Undeterred, Margaret simply shrugged and disappeared. John turned to her.

"Sorry about that," he said. "You must think me a right prick now."

"Not at all."

"You must be wondering why she seems to think she knows nothing about you, though."

"Maybe a little," she admitted.

"She does know, she just thinks I must be hiding something from her. I don't usually have any women friends, and certainly none that are your age. And now her curiosity is piqued more than ever."

"Why?"

The smile that touched his mouth made his eyes crinkle and dance. "Because you're beautiful. And you really do look stunning today."

Her heart flipped again. He thought her beautiful. Beautiful and stunning. It had to mean something. Surely.

"Johnny, stop keeping Anna in the cold hallway and bring her in here!"

"Yes, Mother!" said John in the long-suffering tone of a son who was always happily bossed around by his mother, and bowed. "After you, milady."

She dipped in a curtsy. "Thank you, kind sir."

He was beautiful too, she thought to herself as he followed her into the hot room. So, so beautiful. Ugly Christmas jumper and all.

* * *

Thankfully, any latent initial awkwardness melted away in the first half hour. Margaret fell instantly in love with Leo's cute face, complimenting her on how well he looked.

"Probably too well," Anna said dryly. "He's a lazy thing. He finds it too much effort to play with his toys."

Tiger sniffed around cautiously at first, and Leo kept sticking his paw through the wire mesh to say hello. When Tiger had sniffed it and deemed him safe, they let Leo out to explore his new surroundings. They made small talk about their cats' histories, and bit by bit Anna could see Margaret loosening up and warming to her. She counted it as a victory.

"So, Johnny says you teach English?" she said, taking a sip of the sherry that she had poured for herself.

"That's right."

"Have you always worked at Downton?"

"Yes. It was where I went to school. I always wanted to come back and make a difference, and I'm proud to say that I achieved my goal."

"A noble goal indeed. How long have you worked there now?"

"Nearly four years. I think I've finally got used to not calling my old teachers 'sir' or 'miss' whenever I speak to them. What about you? John mentioned you were a seamstress when you were in Ireland."

"It was nothing very exciting, but it meant I could work from home and look after my son."

"No, I bet it was exciting, creating something from scratch like that. I wish I could do something like that."

"It wasn't always lucrative. Most people prefer garments that are in the shops nowadays. But we got by. You've certainly got an eye for fashion. You look lovely, dear."

"I'm afraid I don't own a Christmas jumper."

"We'll have to sort that out for you."

Which implied she might become a regular feature. She sneaked a glance at John, hoping to gauge his reaction, but he was suitably blank. One sign, that was all she needed…

He did say, "Anna is very lucky to have escaped."

"Nonsense. Christmas jumpers are perfect to get in the spirit of it. Did he tell you that I've spent the last six Christmases alone?"

"Don't make me feel bad," he protested. "You know I'd be here with you if I could, but the army doesn't work that way."

"I don't mean anything by it, I'm simply proving a point. I intend to make the most of it while I can. I have you here, and the jumpers are perfect. That's all I mean. You've indulged your old mother, haven't you?"

"To the cost of my masculinity," he muttered.

"I disagree," said Anna, biting the side of her cheek to stop herself from grinning hard. "I don't think there's anything more masculine than a son doting on his mother. It's a very sweet sight."

"I like this young lady," Margaret announced. "I don't know what on earth you've found to like about this great lummox, but I'm glad you've found something. I feel like we're kindred spirits."

"I'm going to check on the progress of the dinner," John sighed.

Anna stood. "I'll help you."

"Don't be silly," said Margaret. "You're the guest."

"Please, I insist. I hate doing nothing, especially when others are putting themselves out of their way for me. Let me be useful, please."

"Honestly, Anna, it's fine. I'm the one cooking dinner today. Mother is having a well-deserved day off. You should enjoy it too."

She shook her head stubbornly. "I'm sorry. I just can't sit by while other people do all the work. It makes me feel terribly guilty. At least let me set the table for you. You can tell me where everything is."

"You're not going to back down, are you?" said John with a resigned chuckle.

"I'm afraid not."

"I like that. A fire for the benefit of others. You're like an angel, Anna."

"I don't know about that," she protested, flushing under Margaret's words. She couldn't miss the significant look that the older woman shot her son, as if they were having a very important nonverbal conversation that she was not privy to the details of.

"Follow me, then," said John. She shadowed him into the kitchen, where the heavenly, Christmassy odours were emanating. He pulled out a table cloth for her—one of the paper, disposable varieties, covered in hollies and bells and candy canes, more endearing garishness—and she set about smoothing it out. He directed her to the plates—Margaret had special ones for Christmas, one with a Santa in the middle, one with a snowman, and one with a penguin—and the wine glasses while he deftly checked on the progress of the turkey and debated whether it was time to turn on the veg. He was so adorable, fretting over every minute detail. She sidled up behind him, taking the two-pronged fork from his fingers and sliding it into the turkey breast.

"That's nearly done," she announced. "I'd definitely put the veg on now."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, shooting her a lopsided grin.

"Is there anything else I need for the table?"

"The table setting is one of Mother's favourite things. When I was a boy, she always tried to spice it up a bit so it didn't feel like just an ordinary day. We never had much, but she always tried to lay on a spectacular feast. She's carried on the table tradition even now. I got it all out yesterday. Here."

He showed her where he had stored the other things, crackers and sparkling party stars to scatter across the table, and various other trinkets. They'd have to be careful not to knock any of it over.

"This angel takes centrepiece," he told her. "For how much she enjoys the commercial side of it, she's still a devout Catholic at heart, and she likes to remind us of what Christmas is supposed to be about. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she said at once. "I'm flattered that you wanted to include me in the first place."

"Well, you're better about it than I am. I think it nearly killed her when I turned my back on religion entirely. I was supposed to be her good Catholic boy, but it never quite worked out that way."

"But you respect her wishes. There's nothing wrong in that."

"I took her to the Catholic Church in Ripon for Mass this year, since it's been so long since I was last here for Christmas."

"There you go, then. That makes you a good son, which is much better than you just being a good Catholic boy."

"Don't let Mother hear you say that," John teased, but Anna wasn't worried. She knew Margaret would agree with her.

Half an hour later, dinner was ready to be served. John refused to let anyone help now, dishing everything up with enthusiasm if not finesse. Soon their plates were piled high, probably with too much for everyone to finish.

"We always pull the crackers first," said Margaret. "It was always Johnny's favourite thing, sitting at the table with the paper hat on his head. He used to say that it made him feel like a king at a feast."

John's cheeks flushed red. "Mother, really."

"I think it's sweet," Anna cooed. "No need to be embarrassed, Sergeant Bates."

"Let's get this over with, then," he grumbled. "Mother, do the honours."

They pulled the first cracker together. There was no question of who would win; John's arm barely flexed as he moved. With a crack, the cracker split, leaving John with the bigger end. He fished out the joke and the paper hat, moving to place it on her head, a huge grin on his face.

"There we go," he said. "Perfect."

"Get away with you," she said. Your turn, Anna."

"I'll try and go easy on you," said John with a cocky grin.

"No need to worry. I'm stronger than I look."

"We'll have to see about that."

He offered her his cracker with a half-raised, challenging eyebrow. She grasped the end of it firmly, testing the weight before they pulled. Her muscles strained as she tugged it backwards, but it was John who came away the victor once more. His grin was entirely too smug.

Entirely too kissable.

Anna cleared her throat, dropping the useless end as if it had scalded her, afraid that the others would be able to read her feelings in her eyes.

"Here's one for you, milady," John said, and she glanced back up to find him offering the paper hat to her like the crown bearer at a coronation. It looked so delicate in his large hands, but he was handling it with such tenderness. With a lump in her throat, she leaned in towards him, giving him access to her head.

The paper crinkled as it went down over her head and she shivered involuntarily as his fingers caressed her ears as he adjusted it. How she wished his hands would slip further down, move to cup her cheeks, draw her close for a kiss—

"Looks like you or I will have to give John his paper hat," said Margaret.

Anna jerked away, aware of the way that her gaze had drifted to his lips, wondering how they would feel upon hers, wondering how they would taste. She had to pull herself together. Now was not the time for any of that.

Margaret gestured to the cracker by her side, and Anna picked it up in a daze, offering her the other end. She could feel John's gaze on her, and it made her tingle all over.

"Three, two, one, pull!" said Margaret. It snapped.

Anna came away holding the larger end.

"Old age," said Margaret. "Saps all of your strength. Now, get that hat on his head before our dinner goes completely cold. There's nothing worse than cold sprouts."

"Do the honours," John murmured, inclining his head towards her. Anna stood and stretched across the table, pushing the hat down onto his head. She twined her fingers briefly in his hair, thick and silky, and fantasised once more about what it would be like to use that leverage to bring his mouth across to hers.

Her daydream was shattered in the next moment by Margaret's throat clearing, and she blushed, quickly sitting back in her heat. John's gaze slowly slid from hers, as if the magnetic connection had been lost.

"Right, let's dig in," he muttered. Anna had never been more grateful to snatch up her knife and fork.

Conversation was sparse for the first few minutes, but bit by bit Margaret coaxed them back into the fold. They chatted happily about the memories of their own respective Christmases, though Anna was careful never to mention the ones after her dad's death, and Margaret talked a little about what her Christmases were like now, with John away for so many of them.

"I can't deny it, it's hard," said Margaret. "To us, Christmas is about family, but John is the only family I have, and he's not here to be with me. I could never begrudge it, not when I know what he's doing out there, but the older I get, the more I miss him."

John shifted uncomfortably. She caught him.

"Johnny, really," she said. "That's what he's like, always taking the whole world onto his shoulders. I think he'd apologise for every problem the world has ever faced if given half the chance. He knows I understand. A job is a job. I always used to go to my neighbour's house at Christmas when I lived in London. She always took good care of me."

"And I hope you know that you'll always be welcome with Leo and I when John is away in the future," said Anna. "I would like that."

Margaret eyed her shrewdly. "What about your own family?"

She tried to keep her tone neutral. "I don't see much of them these days. You know what it's like. I usually spend the holidays with Robert's family if they're not too busy."

"John mentioned that you're good friends with Mary. It's wonderful, seeing how people's lives entwine. I'm rather surprised we haven't met sooner."

"I like to think that we cross paths with the important people in our lives at the moment when we need them the most. Does that sound corny?" Probably. But Anna believed it anyway. Mary had come into her life at a time when she had been struggling. Steve, as much of a dick as he had turned out to be, had been her first everything, and had showed her that she could move past the things in her childhood that had tried to weigh her down. And then John had stepped into her life, had made her see that she was ready to move on even when she'd thought that she was content with her life.

Margaret glanced across at her son. "No, I think it sounds very lovely indeed. And I hope that we can spend a bit more time together. It will be nice to have one of John's friends close by who misses him too. Robert is always where he is. I'm glad he's got someone with him who is always watching his back, but he doesn't really have someone over here."

"That makes me sound like a hermit," John said. "I'm not. I just prefer to spend my time with the people I like the most. I have a selective group of friends rather than a carousel of them."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with that," said Anna. "In fact, I live by the same principle in many ways. I'm usually the tagalong for Mary in social situations."

"But you must be very popular in your own right," said Margaret. She looked at her with those dark eyes, as if they were piercing right through her and reading all of her secrets. "Do you have a boyfriend, Miss Smith?"

John almost choked on the gulp of water he had been taking. "Mother! You can' say things like that! Anna's private life is absolutely none of our business."

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, it's just a question. I'm showing an interest, that's all."

"There's showing an interest and there's being impertinent. Anna, you don't have to answer anything."

She shrugged. "I have nothing to hide. No, I don't have a boyfriend."

"See?" said Margaret triumphantly. "She doesn't mind. For all I know, she might have had a lovely chap working away for the holidays, like you usually are. Though I am surprised you're single, dear. You're so lovely, it doesn't seem possible."

"I don't mind. I've got a lot to be thankful for right now."

"Yes, it'll all come together in time. You know, Johnny is single too."

" _Mother!"_ John sputtered, looking mortified.

"What? I'm just stating the facts."

Anna tried to keep her face composed as his mother gave him an exasperated look, as if she was tired of his constant complaining and policing. She had thought that there probably wasn't anyone special in his life, but at times it had felt presumptuous to hope. For all she really knew, he just saw her as a good friend, and was extending a friendly hand to her with his invitation. There were plenty of serving women overseas. He could have had someone still over there, eagerly awaiting his return. War experiences bound soldiers tightly together, she knew that.

But maybe now she could dare to hope. Maybe all of this was building up to something more, testing the waters to see how kindly they would take to him. Testing to see if it was worth the chance of drowning. She could hope for that. The world had tried to beat the hope out of her over the years, but she hadn't let it succeed. People had to hope and dream. Otherwise they had nothing.

She sat back in her chair, listening contentedly as John and his mother continued to argue. Maybe, just maybe, one day she would belong to this scene properly.

It was her new secret hope. Her longed-for dream.

* * *

They took a break after they'd eaten to let their dinner settle. Margaret suggested that they open gifts. There were only a few under the tree. Margaret picked them up and handed them across to her son, who looked mildly discomfited that they had an audience in Anna.

"Here you go, dear," she said.

"Well, this one is for you," he replied, handing it right back. "I hope you like it."

"It's from you. How could I do anything else?"

Anna pretended to be interested in the flashing Christmas tree lights as the older woman ripped the paper off, to reveal a selection of famous brand creams. Her eyes lit up.

"Oh, Johnny! These are lovely! But how much did they cost you? I told you not to spend a fortune!"

"Christmas is supposed to be about giving. I want to give you the best," said John, looking even more uncomfortable as she swooped in to kiss him on both cheeks. "There's your other one. I wish I could have got you more, but there wasn't enough time."

"Nonsense. Having you home is the greatest gift I could ever had received." She opened the second to reveal an old, ornate necklace, with a deep emerald in the middle.

"To remind you of home," said John. "I know you've missed Ireland over the years. I'll take you back someday."

There were tears in Margaret's eyes. "Thank you so much, my darling boy."

Anna averted her attention entirely, not wanting to intrude on such a cherished moment between mother and son.

In return, John was given a bottle of aftershave, and a new, top of the range shaving kit because, in his mother's words, she couldn't stand that bloody awful beard that he grew when he was on his tours. It grew in far too quickly, she complained, and made him look like a bear.

When that was done, Anna said shyly, "I've got something for you as well."

"You shouldn't have done that!" Margaret exclaimed.

"I wanted to. I would have felt terrible coming here otherwise."

"But we didn't get anything for you! Now I feel terrible."

"Please don't. Your hospitality has been so lovely. And besides, they're only small gifts."

Margaret took hers first, gasping when she saw the fancy liqueur chocolates beneath the wrapping. "These are lovely."

"I'm glad you like them," said Anna.

"I do. I have to confess, I am partial to these."

"Now you," she said bashfully to John. He took his gift in fingers that trembled just slightly. Anna waited with bated breath, praying he would like it. Again, it was only something small, but she hoped that he found it personal.

"You told me that you'd never read any Barrett Browning," she said when he had unwrapped it. "I thought you could read it while you were away, if you ever get a minute, and then you could tell me what you thought. I hope you like it."

"It's wonderful," he breathed. "Such a thoughtful gift. I shall treasure it. It will remind me of you."

"Well, give the lass a hug," said Margaret.

He moved towards her, and moments later she was enveloped in his arms. It was a brief embrace, but a proper one, tight and meaningful. In the few seconds that her arms were around him, Anna could appreciate the strong muscles in his back, the thickness of his forearms, the warm, spicy scent of his skin that made her feel heady. It felt like solace. Like finding home.

God, how she wanted to keep it.

* * *

After they had pitched in to tackle the pots, they moved back into the living room. With endearing enthusiasm, Margaret suggested playing Charades, another Bates family tradition. John refused, saying he had been embarrassed enough for one day, but between them, they cajoled him into capitulating. Anna couldn't remember a time when she had laughed so hard, John's disgruntled expression never leaving even through his performances. The time simply flew by.

At seven, just as the first wave of soaps was due to start, Anna stood.

"I'd better get going," she said.

"Oh, no, you don't need to leave yet!" Margaret protested. "Please, stay longer."

"I wouldn't want to outstay my welcome," she said.

"Don't be silly, you never could. Do you watch that period drama?"

"I do," she said hesitantly.

"Well, so do I. It's my favourite thing. Please, stay and watch that with me. John won't be very good company for it. He hasn't seen any of the other episodes and won't have the foggiest what's going on. Who's your favourite? I like that housemaid and that valet. Oh, I hope they find happiness. They deserve it."

"Oh, yes, they're lovely," Anna said eagerly. "I hope they finally get together."

John groaned good-naturedly. "And here was me, hoping you would be my ally."

"There, that settles it. You can go home after that period drama. John will make sure you get there. Now, budge out of the way, son, I need the armchair so I can actually see the TV. You don't mind the great lummox sitting next to you, do you, Anna?"

The sofa was small, the kind of chintzy, old-fashioned thing from the sixties. It would be a very tight squeeze with John's broad form folded next to her. It would probably be impossible not to feel him next to her.

"I don't mind," she managed.

"Excellent. Now, hurry up and move, John. That pub owner there has got his wife and another woman pregnant at the same time, and the missus finds out tonight!"

"Happy Christmas," John said dryly.

* * *

The soaps passed quickly. They weren't her cup of tea, but they were enjoyable for Margaret's gasps of shock and John's constant sighing and eye rolling. To punish him, Margaret sent him into the kitchen to make hot chocolate and fetch the biscuits Anna had baked before the period drama started.

It was a decent episode, but with John's close proximity, she was finding it difficult to concentrate. His arm was stretched out along the back of the sofa, and she kept imagining it dropping down to rest on her shoulders. She would snuggle against his side if she felt brave enough…

Halfway through the episode, rasping snores reached her ears. She glanced to the side to find John completely out of it, his head tipped back against the settee.

Margaret tutted. "We're never going to hear the rest of this now."

"He must be so exhausted."

His mother's eyes softened at that. "He's always been a bit of an insomniac. I don't think the army has helped with that. Every now and then he just completely shuts down like this. I expect it's the good food and the warmth."

They certainly had had good food, and it certainly was warm. Anna could see why the flickering lights would have made him sleepy. They were making _her_ eyes feel rather heavy too. Her early morning was catching up with her.

On the screen, the housemaid was telling the valet that she loved him. He was resisting her, but it wasn't for very long. Their faces moved closer, then merged into one as their mouths met in a uniting kiss.

It followed her into her dreams as Anna closed her eyes completely.

* * *

Something heavy landed on her.

Anna woke with a yelp, her eyes flying open. It was pitch black, there was something heavy and warm against her, something warm and heavy over her, and a thick purring in her ear. Where was she?

It took her disorientated mind a few seconds to catch up. She was in John's house.

How the hell had this happened?

"Wha—?" came a gruff, deep sound from beside her, and she pulled away from John, glad that he couldn't see her burning cheeks. She had been sleeping slumped against him. Shit.

The heaviness on her chest lifted. Leo. He had woken her. She tried to push herself upright, but before she could get away from him entirely, John's eyes blinked open sleepily.

The moment their eyes met gave Anna the jolt she needed to push away. Leo hit the floor with a disgruntled mew.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I must have fallen asleep."

John rubbed his palm over his chin. She could hear the soft rasping of his growing stubble. He looked so very, very beautiful, with his hair flopping over his forehead and into those dark eyes.

"What time is it?" he said. "Where's Mother?"

"I don't know," she said. "Do you think she's gone to bed? It's got to be past eleven, otherwise the show would have still been on."

"She's covered us with a blanket," he said, sounding drunkenly amused. It was tucked tight around them, keeping them warm together.

"I'm so sorry—"

"Stop apologising. There's nothing to be sorry for."

Anna fought her way out of her blanket trap, pushing herself back to her feet. "I should get going."

"You can stay here, if you'd like. I can take the sofa, and you can have my bed."

The thought of sleeping in his bed, of burying her nose in his pillow and breathing in his scent, waking with it all over her body in the morning, was almost too much to think about. God, what she would do for that. But it wasn't right. If she got into his bed, she wanted it to be because he was following her there.

"No, that's okay," she said. "I ought to get Leo back."

"Then let me make sure you get there all right."

"You really don't have to do that. It's late. I'll be absolutely fine."

He was already getting to his feet, smoothing his unruly hair back down. "Not a chance."

"But how will you get back home?"

"I'll walk. It's not very far."

"That's hardly fair," she protested. "Stay here, where it's warm. You can get to bed."

"I wouldn't sleep a wink until I knew you were home safely. I'd rather see you to the door myself and know you were safe."

She could tell that he wasn't going to relent. It was pointless to keep going round the houses. "Fine, if you really want to."

He smiled at her. "I do. Get Leo in his box. I'll fetch our coats."

Leo went in happily, and soon they were in Anna's little car. They had to sit and shiver while the windscreen cleared.

"So, you can't've been enjoying the show too much if you fell asleep through it," John teased as she finally put the car into reverse.

Her cheeks burned anew, remembering what it was like to awaken with her face buried in his chest. "It's not that. I didn't even realise I'd nodded off. I was up at the crack of dawn, and I don't think the heat and full tummy was helping. I'll have to download it tomorrow."

"I don't blame you. It looked bloody dreary to me."

"Oh, no, it's lovely. The costumes are so pretty and I love all the relationships between all of the characters."

"And that housemaid and valet most of all?"

"Yes."

"And what makes them so special?"

"I suppose it's how right they are for each other. Have you ever looked at two people and just known that they were perfect for each other?"

"I'm a bloke. We're always told that we're about as romantic as teaspoons. Maybe Robert and Cora would fit that bill. Cora is a saint for putting up with a man like Rob. I don't know how she manages it. I live with him and it makes me want to scream. Maybe that's it. She sees him for four weeks out of the year. It doesn't give her enough time to lose her patience with him."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Well, it's so easy to connect with these characters."

"He looked as if he was quite a bit older than her."

"What does age matter?"

"It does to most people."

"Not to me. Love is based on how well you get on with each other, and how much that person makes you feel safe and loved and happy, not how close they are in number of years."

He made a non-committal noise. She chose to ignore it.

"The valet believes that he's not deserving of the love the housemaid feels towards him. He tries to push her away, but she never lets go. I admire that tenacity."

"Perhaps there's a good reason he feels like he shouldn't be loved. Maybe there are things that can't be atoned for."

"He's made his mistakes, but I don't believe there are many things that can't be atoned for. Some, yes. But not everyone has committed those kinds of crimes. Sometimes you just need love to show you the way."

"And sometimes a partner deserves more. A whole person, free from guilt. It would only shadow everything eventually."

"But if they can be made to see it's worth taking the risk, worth fighting for…"

"Do you always try to look for the good in people, even when they don't deserve it?"

She glanced at him, into those kind eyes. "With some people, it's not hard."

"What happened to those two, anyway?" he said, moving his gaze away.

"Love prevailed tonight."

"A fairy tale ending."

"Not quite yet, but they're on their way." Her hand twitched on the gearstick, repressing the urge to move across and touch him. No more words were spoken until she pulled up outside her flat.

"Well, here we are," she said, trying to inject some brightness into her voice. "Thank you for seeing me home."

"You're welcome," he said, then took a deep breath. "Can you wait a moment?"

She paused in the middle of taking off her seatbelt. "What is it?"

"Mother said that we hadn't got you anything, but that isn't quite the truth."

"What do you mean?"

He shuffled in the confined space, bringing out a neatly wrapped package. Anna's heart rose up to throb in her throat. Despite the cold temperatures, her palms felt sweaty.

"I didn't want to give it to you in front of Mother," he said, dipping his head boyishly. "She'd only have made it more than it is. You know what she was like earlier. I didn't want it to be an uncomfortable situation for the both of us."

"Of course," she said. What should she make of that? That he didn't feel what she did? _Don't make it more than it is_. It was too late for her. She'd already started to cut open her chest, was waiting for a sign to hold her heart in her hands for him to take possession of it.

Or maybe he just needed a little push, like the valet.

John handed the present over to her. It felt hard and smooth beneath her hands. She couldn't see much in the limited light, but she tore it open anyway. A slim volume fell out. She squinted to see the title under the streetlight. _The Complete Poems and Songs of Robert Burns_.

"Great minds think alike," he said softly. "This is my favourite volume of Burns' poetry."

It was such a lovely, personal gift. He was prepared to give her that intimate insight into himself. Surely that had to indicate that what they had, unspoken for now, ran deeper than friendship. Surely.

She ran her fingers reverently over the cover. "I shall treasure it, John. Thank you."

"You like it? Truly?"

"Truly," she whispered, and without thinking about it too much, she leaned across and brushed her lips across his cheek. His breath hitched. She wondered what he would do if she turned his head with her palm and guided his mouth to hers. Would he pull away? Submit?

It wasn't the right moment to find out. She pulled away.

"I'd better get inside," she said quietly. "Thank you so much for a wonderful day, John. And thank your mum for me. She's a wonderful person."

He nodded, and they shuffled out of the car. Anna gathered her things together, and John thrust his hands into his pockets. He did not move until she waved at him through her front window, reassuring him that she was safely inside. He raised his hand in acknowledgement, and she watched him go once more, pressing her palm to the freezing glass, wishing there were no barriers between them.

* * *

They texted each other several times over the next couple of days, but did not manage to see each other for very long. A coffee at the local tea shop was all they could manage, but the broad light of day had not changed what she had started to realise on Christmas Night.

She loved him.

He consumed her every thought. He was there when she closed her eyes. Sitting there across from her, in arm's reach, was the most exquisite torture she had ever known.

No one had ever made her feel this way before. Not any passing crush. Not even Steve, who had shared a significant part of her life. Had she never really been in love before? Had Steve been comfortable because it was the first time she had felt safe around a man? Security and love were two very different things, she was finding out.

John was not safety. Not least because he was not grounded in one place. Every day Afghanistan was on the news. It would be so hard to carry on when he was gone again, praying daily that he was safe, living in constant fear until he returned to her.

Love was about the way he made her feel. The way he made her laugh. How they could sit in silence together and never be more content. Read each other's thoughts. Feel at home together.

There had been charged moments between them before. Moments when she was almost sure that he felt what she did. She just needed to give him one more push. One more push, and he might be hers. It would be worth the risk.


	2. II

**A/N:** The second 'part' of my oneshot for **batesessecretservices** 'Secret Santa Exchange, my gift for the lovely **miss-ute**. I hope you enjoy it!

On that note, I just want to say thank you for the response to the first part! I thought the length would put people off, so I was so happy to see it getting reviews and alerts! Thank you so much! I haven't had the time to respond to reviews yet, and I most likely won't until after Christmas, but know that I really, really appreciate it. I just hope it can live up to expectations. That's always the most nerve-wracking thing. :P This section is slightly shorter than the one before, at just over 18,500 words. This middle portion is a little bit angstier, and there are mentions of child abuse and war. It loosely incorporates the prompts, _a mishap under the mistletoe_ and _too much mulled wine_.

* * *

The night of the Crawleys' party arrived. Mary had texted her to reconfirm the times. It was the longest Anna had gone without seeing her best friend. She had missed her.

She chose her clothes extra carefully that evening. There would be plenty of guests descending on the Crawleys' house, but there was only one that she wanted to impress. Subtly, if she could, because she didn't want to have to answer unwanted questions. She selected a sleeveless, deep blue dress that stopped just above the knee and dipped low to just tease her cleavage, tucked in at her slim waist before flaring out over her hips. She'd probably be freezing, but it would be worth it. God, she hoped it would be worth it.

After checking that everything was just so, she fed Leo and waved him goodbye, stepping out into the cold night air. She would walk there and get a taxi back.

Half an hour later, she was walking up the drive to the Crawleys' residency, which had been built to their tastes, ten times the size of any other house in Downton. The night air had indeed frozen her to the bone and her feet were killing in her high heels, but she told herself that she would be seeing John soon. It was more than enough to get her through.

"Anna!" she heard her best friend call as soon as she stepped over the threshold. "There you are!"

"Hello," she said, moving forward to engulf her in a hug. "How was your Christmas?"

Mary's eyes shone. "Wonderful. Matthew has booked us a trip to Rome during February half term."

"That sounds lovely. And expensive."

"He says I'm worth every penny."

"I'm sure you are," Anna teased.

"Watch your mouth, Smith. I can easily cast you back out into the night. What about yours? Were you terribly lonely? You should have come. I could have invited one of the single men I know to keep you company."

"I don't want one of your cast-offs, thank you very much," she retorted saucily, and grinned when her friend rolled her eyes. "Actually, I had another invitation."

Mary raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Did you?"

"John asked me to spend Christmas with him and his mum."

" _What!?_ When did this happen?"

"He came round a couple of days before."

"And you said yes."

"I thought it might be nice."

"Very nice, I'm sure." Mary eyed her suspiciously. "I don't know whether I should be offended or not that you turned me down but jumped at the chance to spend the time with John Bates."

"I know what you're thinking. Stop it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. You're thinking that there's more to it."

"I don't think it. I _know_ there's more that you're refusing to say. You haven't shown the slightest bit of interest in men since that tosspot did what he did to you, and suddenly you're spending _Christmas_ with one?"

"And his mother."

"Even worse. You've met the parents. There's no denying it, Anna. You might think that I'm too self-centred to notice things, but you're wrong. I've seen you these past months. You're on tenterhooks until you hear from him again, and then you light up for days when you do. I can't remember you ever looking like that for anyone else. It boggles my mind, but I'm not blind. You fancy the khakis off him."

Anna ducked her head. It went beyond fancying him. "And if I do?"

Mary held her hands up in mock-defence. "I find it mystifying, but I'm not judging you. Even if he is old enough to be your father."

"He's not!" she said indignantly.

"All right, calm down, I was only teasing." Mary lowered her voice. "Have you said anything to him?"

Anna glanced around to ensure they were completely alone before answering. "I want to. I'm no good at keeping things inside. I'd rather lay all my cards on the table. And there are times when I'm almost certain he feels the same way…"

"Almost?"

She grinned. "It _is_ John. He's maddeningly vague at times. Unless…has he said anything to Robert?"

Mary shrugged. "He might have done. But if he has, I wouldn't get to know. They're as thick as thieves. Papa would take any secret he told him to his grave, and I know John would do the same. They're more like a married couple than Mama and Papa actually are."

"Promise me you won't say a word," said Anna. "If I'm going to tell him, I don't want him to hear it through anyone other than me."

Her friend mimed zipping her lips. "Now, come on in. We've got lots and lots of mulled wine, and I'd say the fact that you're finally ready to test the waters again is a good enough reason to celebrate."

The party filled quickly with revellers, and the upbeat music presented a lively backdrop. Mary alternated between dragging her to the dancefloor and pressing drink after drink into her hands. John was one of the last to arrive, and even across the crowded room their eyes met and locked. Such a romantic cliché, but it set her heart racing. Another sign. Her heart fluttered as she realised that he was fighting his way to her side. She hoped she still looked and smelled good, and that the dancing hadn't taken its toll on her.

"You're very late," she said when he was in range, shouting to be heard above the thumping music.

"Fashionably so, as they say."

"I think fashionably late has been and gone."

He chuckled. "You know this kind of thing is far from my comfort zone. I'm already working out how long I can stay before it's deemed that I've shown my face."

"You're not ducking out before midnight!" she said firmly.

"I doubt Rob would ever let me do that. But I won't be too long after. I've left Mother home alone."

"Didn't she want to come tonight?"

"It's not really her thing. She said she was happy to stay at home and watch the telly, but I feel guilty about being here while she's on her own. So when I've welcomed in the New Year I'll be heading home."

"Well, I suppose I can't blame you for that."

"Bates, my dear fellow!"

They turned to find Robert hurrying towards them. His red cheeks indicated that he was well on his way to being merry. He was clutching at another glass of the wine.

"I was wondering when you were going to turn up!" he roared. "I've got plenty of eligible women simply dying to meet you!"

John grimaced. "God, no. How many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested?"

"And you can't be alone forever! We weren't designed for that. Did you know, Anna, I even once set him up on a date with Rosamund? And the bastard bailed on me! I mean, I trusted and liked him enough to want him to go out with my sister, and he blew me out! Said he wasn't ready to sow his seeds again just yet."

Anna stole a glance at him. John looked extremely uncomfortable. So there _was_ some romantic tragedy in his past. Had he had his heart broken by someone he had loved? Maybe it was worse than that. Maybe she had died, leaving him utterly bereft. How she wished she knew.

"Rosamund was not the least bit interested in seeing someone like me," he said now. "I was far too brooding, far too quiet, and I preferred to stick my head in a book instead of going out to party. We were total opposites. Nothing could have come of that."

"Opposites attract," Robert argued.

"I was terrified of her."

"I'm terrified of Cora. We've not done half bad. Anyway, you don't have a choice. You're coming with me."

"Actually, I was just talking to Anna—"

"Anna doesn't mind."

"Well—"

But Robert didn't even stop to listen, and her protestations died on her lips. He grabbed John by the forearm and began to drag him away.

"Hook me out in five minutes," he pleaded to her over his shoulder. She nodded.

After downing the rest of her drink, she deemed that five minutes had surely passed. Pushing through the bodies, she spied John in the corner, surrounded by three very attractive women. She paused a moment to watch. They were circling him like vultures, toying with the ends of their hair or drawing attention to their big breasts by playing with pendants around their necks or reaching out to run their fingers over him, their laughs husky and sexy as they tried to press closer.

Most men would likely be over the moon with such attention, thanking their lucky stars. Not John. His expression mirrored a mouse surrounded by ravenous snakes. It gave her more hope. In the months that she had known him, she had never got the impression that he wasn't happy to be with her, even when they had to communicate through letters. Never.

She practically bounced across the rest of the space between them. Her mind was made up. She was going to tell him. It would be the last push he needed, she was sure of it. The mulled wine was bolstering her courage.

"Not interrupting anything, am I?" she asked brightly, insinuating herself into the group. None of the women were like her, all dark haired, dark eyed, big breasted, curvaceous, reeking of money and privilege and success. All three wrinkled their noses like they could detect a bad smell. John's eyes lit up.

"Anna," he said, the relief in his voice evident.

"Oh, you know her?" said one, as if it was beneath her to acknowledge her presence.

"I do," he confirmed.

"I was wondering if you'd like to dance," Anna said.

"We can dance with him—" one of the three carbon copies objected, but John latched onto her line at once.

"It would be an honour," he said. "Nice talking to you, ladies."

Anna motioned for him to come, and he did so at once, moving his hand to the small of her back. She was acutely aware of its presence. Leaving the women behind, they made their way to the crowded dancefloor.

"I'm afraid if looks could kill, I would no longer be here," she commented.

"Thank you for being my knight in shining armour."

"You're welcome." She noticed the awkward way he was holding himself. "What's wrong?"

"I actually hate dancing," he confessed.

Anna's heart sank. "Do you?"

"I have two left feet, and I always feel like the world is watching me."

Her visions of being wrapped in his arms were fading away, like smoke ghosts. What a perfect fantasy that would have been, a reason to be so close to him.

"Oh, sure," she said anyway. "I understand." She managed a tight smile for his benefit.

He must have gauged the disappointment in her face, for he hesitated. "But I can make an exception for you."

"I wouldn't want you to do something you're not comfortable with—"

"I'm comfortable whenever I'm with you," he interrupted. "If you don't mind dancing with someone who wouldn't know a beat if it slapped him in the face…"

"I'd love to," she whispered.

At that moment, the music changed. Gone was the upbeat boyband pop song. Replacing it was the soulful chords of an Ed Sheeran classic. Anna felt herself flushing to the roots. If John hesitated again, it was only for a moment; in the next, his arms had slipped around her, and she stepped into the circle of his embrace. His familiar scent overwhelmed her immediately. This was home.

Around them, other lovers were coming together. She spied Mary and Matthew making their way to the dancefloor. Others were leaning down to share kisses or touching their foreheads together so they could look into each other's eyes while they swayed.

Cautiously, Anna moved her head until it was resting against his chest. His heartbeat was loud and strong in her ear. His arms tightened around her and, tentatively, she felt his chin touch the crown of her hair.

"Are you all right?" he murmured.

"More than all right," she said.

They stayed like that, swaying gently. Anna closed her eyes so she could concentrate on everything. On the way his arms felt around her. On the strong breadth of his chest. On the way he eclipsed her entirely, so much taller as he was. On the way that his scent tickled her senses. She wanted to stay like this forever. Or maybe not _exactly_ like this forever. She would quite like to be able to look up into his beautiful face too. So she did, pulling away until she met his dark gaze. This close, she could see the explosion of colours in his eyes: the flecks of green, the hazel, the darkest brown. Such gorgeous, expressive eyes. They were the kind of clichéd eyes that a woman could get lost in while trying to discover their secrets. Coupled with the dark Irish hair, the pale complexion, the broad, strong nose, the wide cheeks, the weathered jaw…he was a masterpiece of masculinity. Her gaze flickered down, to his mouth. The mouth that looked so perfect, that could probably kiss a girl like she was a porcelain princess and like she was a goddess to be worshipped, the kind of mouth that could inspire exquisite pleasure, the kind of mouth that she would never want to pull away from…

He seemed to be looming larger in front of her, that tantalising mouth coming nearer. She licked her lips, parting them slightly as she rose on her tiptoes, her eyes drifting closed as she fast-forwarded in her mind to the moment when they met…

Their noses brushed. She felt his warm, sweet breath on her mouth, and shivered—

The music changed, a loud pounding coming out of the speakers. The others on the dancefloor cheered and began to jig about, and John jerked his head away, as if he had been run through by an electric current. Her heart pounding, Anna retracted back onto her heels. Shit.

"John—" she said, touching him, but he stepped abruptly away.

"I need a cigarette," he said.

"Okay," she said dumbly, tongue-tied. All she could do was watch him walk away, wondering how it had all gone so wrong. Well, she would give him a little bit of space. It would give them both the chance to catch their breaths. She could do with a drink to steady herself.

One drink turned into two when Mary brought her yet another glass of the special mulled wine. She took a deep draught, savouring it on her tongue. Mary laughed.

"Steady on," she said. "You're going to be as drunk as a lord. You're a lightweight as it is."

"I'm not drunk," she said indignantly.

"Just watch out. Tom Branson has already emptied the contents of his stomach all over Papa's favourite antique rug, which he's absolutely livid about. I don't want you to be in the line of fire as well."

"Duly noted," she said. She wasn't drunk, but the mulled wine had certainly warmed her up. Everything seemed softer around the edges of her vision, and there was a pleasant buzz in her head. Somehow, she felt invincible, as if she could do anything right now if she just put her mind to it, even fly.

There was only one thing she really wanted right now.

"Has John come back inside yet?" she asked.

"I don't think so, no. I haven't seen him around, anyway."

"I think I'll go and find him."

Her friend lowered her voice. "Is that wise at the moment?"

"Mary, I'm not drunk!" she said in frustration. "I wouldn't even be able to speak if I really was."

"Yes, darling, but you've had a few. Why not wait until your head is clearer in the morning?"

"He goes back on the second, you know that. I thought you were pleased I was ready to see someone again?"

"And I am! Of course I am. I just think you should take a step back, maybe assess how you feel when he's no longer here. The absence will make your heart grow fonder, or it'll make you realise that you were just caught up in the moment."

"That would have happened already. I felt something different about him almost from that first moment. If it was going to fade, it would have done so back in April. My heart grew fonder, Mary. I want him to know before he goes back."

She didn't want to stand there listening to reasons why she shouldn't do it. Mary had no right to stand there and judge, not when she had stood loyally by when everything with Matthew had fallen apart. Not once had she questioned her best friend's actions out loud because she knew that Mary did not need to hear them. Why couldn't she give the same support back?

"I've got to go," she muttered. "See you later."

"Anna—"

But she did not stop to listen any further. Fighting her way through the throng of people, she eventually made her way to the front door.

The cold air was like a slap around the face, and her eyes watered at its intensity. Inhaling it cleared some of the cotton that had been fuzzing up her mind, and she took a tentative step out. It had not cooled her courage.

The weather was keeping everyone indoors. Only one or two people who couldn't fight the itch for nicotine stood huddled there in groups, keeping as close together as possible for warmth, the orange tips of their cigarettes like beacons lighting the way. One person stood alone, shoulders hunched over, one hand thrust inside his thick coat pocket, the smoke furling round him. She'd recognise John's stance anywhere in the world.

He turned when he heard her heels on the ground. Anna couldn't tell if he was pleased to see her or not. She wouldn't let that dampen her spirit. She had come here on a mission, and she would see it through. The adrenaline pounding through her veins carried her feet the rest of the distance, until she was by his side.

"I wondered where you'd got to," she said.

He tapped his cigarette. Ash floated to the ground like grey snowflakes. "You shouldn't be outside. It's cold."

"I'm all right," she lied, even as she shivered. Unconsciously, she shifted closer, trying to absorb some of his heat. She did not particularly like the habit, the smell acrid in her nostrils. But the temptation to be close to him was too much to resist.

They stood in silence, until John had smoked his cigarette right down to the butt. He dropped the end and squashed it underfoot, sighing.

"We ought to get back," he said.

His words galvanised her. It was now or never this evening. "Can you wait a moment?"

He froze, then gave a tight nod. He looked as if he wanted to do anything but. Not a good sign. But she had come this far.

"I'm going to miss you," she offered up. "I wish you didn't have to go back."

"You know I have to. It's my duty."

"I know that. And I'm proud of you. But it won't make it any easier to see you leave."

"Anna…" he said weakly.

"Don't speak," she said. "Not yet."

"I have to—"

She shook her head fiercely. No, he had to hear her out. She didn't want to hear him shut her down before she'd even had the chance to put her case forward. She had to make him see that she was strong enough to bear being without him while he was serving. He did not have to worry about her, but she wanted the right to worry about him as a woman in love was entitled to. What did she have to do to convince him?

Her eyes drifted to the heavens as she sought the answer. And there it was, in front of her.

"Don't move," she breathed.

He frowned. "What?"

She stepped closer, rising up on her tiptoes. That masculine scent overwhelmed her senses again, making her head spin even more than the wine had. She placed a hand on his forearm to steady herself, feeling the muscles contract beneath her.

"Mistletoe," she breathed. "We're standing under mistletoe."

John's head shot up to confirm her statement. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on those swaying white berries. Someone had gone to the trouble of affixing them along the beam that ran inside the tiny alcove. This was perfect. Now she could show him in actions rather than words just how she felt about him.

She did not give him the opportunity to speak or back away. In one fluid motion, she had closed the gap between them and captured his mouth sweetly with her own.

It was the greatest moment of her life. John stood frozen for a moment, but she hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him further down to her, working her mouth against his, desperate for him to respond.

Success. The barest of movements. She moved her tongue against the seam of his lips, her senses exploding with the taste of him. Cigarette smoke and peppermints. It was the most glorious thing she had ever tasted in her whole life, so quintessentially John—

He jerked away from her, his hands pushing at her hips.

"No," he said forcefully.

Anna's heart stopped mid-beat, as if it had been impaled by an archer's arrow. She'd misheard, surely. He couldn't push her away. Panicked, she tried to move in and catch his mouth again, to force him to see what she felt, but his hands were strong and harsh as he kept her at bay.

" _No,"_ he repeated, the sound like a bullet.

"John, please—" she said desperately.

"No, Anna. Stop it. You're drunk."

She snorted hysterically, bitterly. "Bleedin' Christ, I am _not_ drunk. I know exactly what I'm doing. I remember my full name, and yours, and my address, and I can tell you my phone number backwards if you need me to. Yes, I've had a few drinks tonight, but don't you dare tell me that I'm drunk. Don't insult me that way."

"The last thing I would wish to do is insult you. But I won't stand back and let you make a mistake, either."

"It's for me to decide what mistakes I make!" She took a deep breath, her throat almost closing over. God, she felt sick. But she would say her piece. She would not shy away from it. For better or worse. "Because…because I love you, John Bates. Maybe you think I shouldn't say it, but I've never been able to hide the things I feel. I won't change that for anyone."

"You can't know you love me," he said. The agony in his eyes was plain.

"I do. The feelings started to grow from the moment I met you. I've never been surer of anything." Anan drew a deep, shaky breath. She hardly dared ask. "Is…is there someone else? Your mum said you were single, but that doesn't mean you haven't been seeing someone."

"I'm not seeing anyone, no. But I have too much baggage, which I'm not prepared to put on anyone."

"What do you mean, baggage?" she said. Her mind whirred. All it kept stopping on was the fact that he was rejecting her. The mulled wine, which had been so sweet on her tongue moments before, now tasted sour.

He looked wretched, scrubbing a hand down his face. "For one thing, I've been married."

"Married?" Anna felt all of the blood draining out of her face. Her world span again, but for an entirely different reason. God, was she going to pass out…?

"We're divorced," he amended. "It's why I was taking my leave back in April. I needed to be here to sign the papers, and we moved out of London to put some distance between us."

Married. The word drilled her skull. Married.

"What was her name?" she whispered.

"What does that matter?"

It mattered to her. He'd been married, had kept that nugget of information all to himself in the time he had met her. There _had_ beensomeone else in his life until so very recently, but she had never guessed the enormity of it. He had shared his life with another woman so intimately and had never thought to tell her. He'd had business up here with his wife perhaps just hours before he'd met her. True, he didn't know about _her_ past, but she hadn't broken up with Steve mere days before getting a lift home with him. It was different. A long-ago ex was different to a very recent wife.

Some of the anguish and conflict must have shown on her face, for he relented. "Vera. Her name was Vera."

Vera. She had a name, and she was realer than ever now.

"Where does this leave us?" she said.

His face hardened. "There isn't an 'us', Anna."

"Are…are you saying that you don't feel the same?"

"I'm saying that I can be your friend, nothing more."

Which wasn't quite a direct answer to the question. "Is it because of Vera?"

"In some respects. But the fact of the matter is, I'm not the kind of man you should pin all of your hopes on. I can't even pretend to understand how you've fallen for me. If I was a woman, I wouldn't fall for someone like me if I was the last man on earth."

What could she say to that? She could argue it was because he was seeing himself through his own eyes…but perhaps that was the point. Perhaps she didn't know the man standing before her at all. Perhaps she had fallen in love with a lie.

That was too much to accept. She had to believe, believe in _him_. John Bates was a kind man of honour and trust, who wanted what was best for those around him at all times. She did not think her judgement was wrong there.

"I'm sorry, Anna," he said softly. "I'm sorry I can't be the man you need me to be. You should go home now. Go to sleep and dream of a better man."

She shook her head helplessly. "I can't. Because there isn't one."

His face turned to flint. "You should. And you must. I am nothing. Do you hear me, Anna? _Nothing_. I could never offer you anything. You have to put me to the back of your mind and move on with your life. If you're patient, you'll see I'm right in the end. Some young man much better suited to you will come along and sweep you off your feet."

"But—"

"There are no buts, don't you get it? You are a wonderful young woman. The best I have ever met, in fact. Which is why you can't be with me. I'm sorry, Anna. I really am."

He turned away. She wanted to reach out and grab hold of his shoulders, shake him until he saw things her way. He had kissed her back a moment before under the mistletoe. That had to mean something. He had to feel something, whether he wanted to admit it or not. If she could take him into her arms again, perhaps she could break him—

Her arms were lead; they would not move. All she could do was stare hopelessly after him as he trudged away, shoulders hunched, as if he was bearing the weight of the world on them.

"…Three! Two! One!"

Out of nowhere, the sky was suddenly illuminated a hundred different colours, a beautiful, beautiful sight. Fireworks. The New Year had crept upon them, she thought dimly, and everyone had come outside to see it dawn, the screams and shouts and cheers joyous as the revellers oohed and ahhed beneath the bangs and cracks of the display overhead. Beneath that kaleidoscope of showering sparks, she could make out silhouettes coming together to embrace and kiss. In the back of her mind, that was what she'd been hoping to share with John on the stroke of midnight. A kiss fuelled with promise of their future that started right then. She'd hoped that their relationship could bloom and ignite, dazzle like the fireworks illuminating the obsidian sky.

Instead, all she'd been left with was charcoaled debris, the remains of the fireworks when the beauty had long since fizzled out.

* * *

 _January_

The second came and went with no other word from him. Anna crossed through the box on her new calendar with a thick black marker, feeling that cross burn itself onto her heart, the X marking the spot that would remain forever hollow without what she wanted.

* * *

The knocking on the door broke her from her light slumber. Blinking, she fumbled up in to a sitting position, her eyes straying to the clock. Three in the afternoon. Who could possibly be calling?

She tamped down on the absurd, pointless hope that it was John, having turned away from his journey overseas to tell her that he was a fool, that he'd made the biggest mistake of his life, that he would do whatever it took to have her as his own…

God, she'd probably just fall into his arms anyway.

Anna shook her head. Bloody stupid thoughts. He was gone out of her life for good. Wearily, she shuffled into the tiny hallway, trying to decipher who was beyond the frosted glass. She couldn't tell. Well, there was only one thing for it. She pulled open the door.

Mary was bundled up on the other side of the threshold, in pure cashmere and one hundred percent wool, tall and willowy and gracefully beautiful. Perhaps Mary was more John's type—not her, since he was so close to Robert and probably saw her as some kind of daughter, but someone with similar qualities. Perhaps she was too short, or too blonde.

Christ, she needed to snap out of this.

"What is it?" she said to her friend.

Mary wrinkled her nose. "How lovely to see you, too. Good God, am I that much of a disappointment to you? I thought you'd be pleased to see me."

Anna scrubbed a hand down her face. "Of course I am. I'm sorry."

Mary narrowed her eyes at her. "Are you sick?"

Belatedly, Anna realised that she was wearing her comfiest, most unflattering pyjamas in the middle of the day. She hadn't even bothered to brush her hair that morning. She simply hadn't had the energy.

"No," she sighed. "I just felt like having a lazy day."

"A lazy day is one thing, looking like you've lost the will to live is quite another."

She bristled. "I'm entitled to dress how I want in my own home!"

Mary ignored her. "Can I come in?"

"I don't think now is such a great time…"

"Why, because you're so busy? Come on, move over, it's absolutely freezing out here."

Without waiting for consent, her friend barged over the threshold. Anna scowled at her, but Mary paid her no mind, peeling off her outer layers.

"I'm dying for a cup of tea," she announced.

Did she even have any clean mugs? She'd lacked so much energy over the last couple of days that all she'd done was stack her used pots on the side to be dealt with later. She hadn't even realised that they'd been multiplying.

Anxious that Mary should avoid seeing the mess, Anna hastily directed her into the living room and told her that she'd be back in a jiffy. In the kitchen, she quickly rinsed through a couple of mugs—her cupboard was indeed bare—and threw together a brew. She'd already eaten her way through all of the biscuits she'd had, so she grabbed a mince pie instead.

"Thank you, darling," said Mary as she took the mug.

"It's okay," she answered, flopping down in the tiny armchair and taking a bite out of the pie. Leo came over at once to see what was on offer. She scratched him idly behind the ears. He really was the best of men. He'd never let her down.

"You know, you could have waited to see me Monday," she said as Leo folded himself into her lap and purred contentedly. "School starts then."

"Well, we haven't seen each other much this holiday. I wanted to spend some time with you."

"Do you think I'm stupid? I know there's more to it than that."

Mary huffed. "Fine, if you must know, I was worried about you."

"What on earth for?"

"You haven't replied to a single one of my texts, for one thing. You disappeared at New Year without even saying goodbye. And look at you."

"What do you mean!?" she snapped.

"Since when have you been in your pyjamas in the middle of the afternoon before?"

"Plenty of times, actually. I like to be comfy when I'm on my own."

"But your hair looks like a crow's nest. I know _that_ isn't normal. Something happened between you and John at the New Year party, didn't it? And it can't have been anything good."

"What makes you say that?" said Anna, but all the fight drained out of her. She could feel her eyes misting again. That wouldn't do. She'd cried too many tears over it as it was.

Mary's expression was uncharacteristically soft. "I heard Papa telling Mama that John seemed tense and standoffish. I thought about what you'd said at the party and put two and two together. I'm right, aren't I?"

And Anna crumbled. It had been like a pressure container building up inside her, the water forever pushing at the defences and threatening to shatter them completely. Now, with her friend looking at her with such concern, she couldn't contain herself any longer.

Alarmed, Mary hurried to her side. Leo gave a hiss as he was squashed, then waddled away for cover with a reproachful look back. Anna wrapped her arms around her friend and buried her face in her shoulder. Normally, Mary was not one for any kind of displays of affection, but she had a surprisingly comforting embrace.

"Tell me," she whispered.

And, sniffing, Anna did.

* * *

The restart of the school term gave Anna more purpose, and she had never been more grateful to get back to work. Work had always helped her in the past, provided her with a goal to fight towards. Her purpose had always been to help those children get as much out of their futures as they could, and she threw herself back into that now with a renewed vigour. It did not give her time to dwell on her own disappointment. Mary had been horrified to learn of John's marriage, and had blamed herself for not asking more questions—as a teen, John's private life had been of no interest to her, and her parents had never once mentioned a wife. His lack of a female companion had led her, in typical Mary fashion, to believe that he was either gay or asexual, and she had never given it more thought than that.

As the weeks went by, however, Anna found that although she could think of John and be thankful for the moments he had given her, the feelings that she had never had before, the exquisite agony was still there, like she was living with a debilitating affliction that she had to get on with. At one time, before all this, she'd entertained idle thoughts that she could go round and see Margaret Bates in her son's absence, but those had been quashed with his dismissal. It would be strange to play happy families with a mother figure when she didn't truly belong there, not in the way that she wanted to.

She had to get on with it.

Nothing had come of it, but he had made her see that settling for second best with another man would be an injustice to herself. She'd been happy on her own before. She could be, if not quite happy, then at least content, alone again. She hoped.

Life had always marched on in the past, and it would continue to do so. She had to try to make the best of a bad situation. Forget everyone else, she owed that to _herself_.

* * *

 _February_

In those weeks, she didn't hear from him. She was forced to sit by and beg for scraps from Mary, who might say that Robert had mentioned that both he and John were fine. That was the best she got. Instead, the powerful ache of loss squeezed her heart in a vice, wishing that she could have the simple, unmatched joy that Mary didn't fully appreciate in having her father's words to comfort her, the tangible presence of a letter to hold close to her heart.

And then, just as suddenly, there was a handwritten, beaten envelope on her doormat, and her world pulsed and bloomed with light.

There was more than a little hesitancy as she picked it up, she had to admit to herself. Her fingers trembled as she held the envelope in her fingertips, as light as a feather in her grip, and suddenly she was deeply afraid. What if he was writing to her to tell her that he couldn't be around her anymore when he took his leave? What if he told her that he couldn't be her friend because of what she'd said?

Those fears needled at her, and she found she couldn't open it. Not then. She left it tucked in the bureau's drawer in the living room.

Even then, it was there every time she closed her eyes, every time she allowed her attention to wander during the classes she taught. Not knowing was no better than knowing. She would drive herself mad if she carried on in this way.

When she got home, she took a deep breath, fished the letter out, and opened it before she could talk herself out of it.

Somehow, holding those papers in her hands made her instantly feel closer to him. Just days before, John would have held these sheets in the exact same way, crinkling them in his large fingers.

She had come this far. She had to read it now.

Steeling herself, she flipped them over.

 _Dear Anna,_

 _I am so sorry that I haven't written before now. If I'm honest, I wasn't quite sure what to say. That, I hope you know, is a reflection on me and not on you._

 _I feel that I owe it to you to acknowledge the things that you spoke about the last time I saw you in person. I know our parting wasn't what you had hoped, but I hope you know that you have no need to feel embarrassed about what was said. I ran like a coward when confronted with it, but I want you to know that I do treasure the sentiment nevertheless. It has been a long, long time since anyone other than my mother looked at me with love—and because of that very bond, it is her sacred duty to do so. I know at times in the past she must have been at odds as to what to feel._

 _I don't want there to be any awkwardness between us, and I want to reassure you that as far as I'm concerned, nothing has changed. I still want to be your friend, even if that is all there can be. I am still so grateful for that April day when we first met, and every moment we've shared since then is greatly cherished in my heart. I still can't wait to see you when I am next home (my next leave, unfortunately, is taking me to Ireland where I still have cousins), and I hope we can make many, many more memories together._

 _Of course, I do understand if this has changed things between us for you. If you don't feel that you can carry on what we have, then I will respect your wishes. The last thing I would ever wish is for you to feel forced into a situation that you cannot escape, and I would let you go in an instant if I thought it would improve your life. If I don't hear from you, I will understand that you need distance from me. If I have made you unhappy, all I can say is that I'm so, so sorry, and I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me, even if I never hear those words for myself. I don't deserve you, Anna Smith. There's a better man for you out there, I know it. One day you will find him._

 _I hope this letter has found you well, even if the contents are far from cheery—you ought to know by now that I am a self-pitying arse. I think of you every day._

 _Best wishes always,_

 _John_

Anna read through the letter three more times before she set it down. Her heart and head were reeling. Arse was right. Why did he always have to be so gallant, trying to do the right thing by her? Couldn't he see that as far as she was concerned, there was no other man for her? No other man had ever made her feel the things that he had, not even a tenth of them. That one moment at Christmas had sparked a fire within her that she had not felt at any stage in her relationship with Steve, not even when that relationship had been in far more physically intimate territory than the one she had with John was.

 _I don't want there to be any awkwardness between us, and I want to reassure you that as far as I'm concerned, nothing has changed._

So he said. But how easy did words come? A piece of paper was not physical presence. Anna had no idea how she would feel around him when he returned. Would there be awkward pauses when neither of them knew what to say? Would they start to make excuses just for the relief of avoiding one another? How could they laugh and joke as they had done before? Anna had seen it before, in her friends. It rarely ended in the idealistic way that John spoke about. Right now, she couldn't be sure of the strength of her own character, never mind his. It was a huge thing, to ask someone to pretend that the feelings they had didn't exist. Most would say it was an impossible task.

And yet…

And yet she wasn't sure if she could let him go, either. Right now, as vulnerable as she felt, she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to cut him out of her life for good. She felt like some kind of parody of Midas: cursed to look but never to touch, for fear of destroying everything for good.

Still, the temptation was so, so great.

 _If I don't hear from you, I will understand that you need distance from me._

It would probably be best to leave it at that. The unthinkable truth was this: nothing good could come of it. He wanted to continue on as friends. She did not.

And yet.

She wrote back to him.

At first the words were stilted, but the longer she wrote, the easier she found it to fall into some echo of what they had had before. And, well, if it was just a little bit forced, who could blame her? She was trying. She was trying so damned hard.

In his months away, those letters became like lifelines. Whenever one fell through the door, Anna felt she could breathe again, if only for a moment; they could have been reams of pages long, and she would still only feel like they were but a brief swallow of the oxygen that she needed to survive.

 _Dearest Anna…_

 _I find myself thinking of you at random points in the day…_

 _One of my fellow soldiers leant me his copy of_ Wuthering Heights _and it brought to mind how you had read your favourite passages aloud to me in that lovely Yorkshire lilt…_

 _It is hell out here. But the thought of you helps me…_

 _Sending love…_

Did he not realise what he was doing to her? He was playing her heart like a master musician might command his favourite instrument. It wasn't fair. Talking in that coded manner, it left his words shrouded in a miasma of mystery. What should she take from them? Something? Nothing? How could he tell her one minute that he was not the right man for her, and in the next reveal that the thought of her was what was getting him through each day? It wasn't something that should be _said_ to someone rejected as just a friend.

The right thing to do would be to stop this madness.

She couldn't. She wrote back to him, begging him to stay safe. He was more traditional than some of the others, preferring the old-fashioned method of letter-writing over telephone calls or spotty Skype sessions, but the one time she did hear his voice on the line, faint over the crackling static but so achingly familiar, it took every ounce of her self-control not to break down.

This could only have a car crash end. But she had got behind the wheel and hurtled at a hundred miles an hour on a slippery surface towards it on her own volition anyway.

* * *

 _May_

The dull, grey Monday morning ought to have been an indication on how the rest of the day would sour her mood.

Little did she know how it would shape her life.

She pulled into the staff carpark at eight o'clock. So early in the morning, the school was usually fairly silent, with only a trickle of students loitering around on account of the early time of their bus service. Anna greeted them as she passed through, already dreaming of her second coffee of the day. It had been difficult to get out of bed this morning.

She spied Mary and Ethel in the corner of the room when she stepped into the staffroom. It seemed they were locked in stilted conversation. It would only thaw when she appeared between them to smooth the waters.

After whipping herself up an instant coffee from the cheap granules provided, Anna made her way towards them. She threw her bag down and set her chipped mug on the table in front of her.

"Morning," she said wearily. "How are you?"

"Mary's got some news," said Ethel bluntly.

Mary shot her a daggered look. "I wanted her to settle in before I bombarded her!"

"Oh, come on, as if she wouldn't have noticed in ten seconds flat anyway! It's practically big enough to see from the moon!"

Anna was in no mood for their bickering today.

"Come on, spill the beans," she said. "I'm not sure today is the best day to keep me in suspense."

Mary dithered for a moment, then thrust her left hand forward with great gusto.

"Matthew proposed, and I said yes!" she said, uncharacteristically giddy. "I'm engaged!"

Her explanation was needless; the ring on her finger was one of the biggest things Anna had ever seen. It must have cost Matthew a very pretty penny.

In the wake of Mary's eager look of anticipation, she managed, "Congratulations!" It didn't come out as thrilled as she'd hoped it would, but her friend didn't seem to notice.

"Thank you," she said, then launched into a detailed explanation of exactly how the proposal had come about. Anna tried to listen, interjecting every so often with sounds that she hoped sounded pleased and interested, but her mind kept drifting.

It wasn't that she wasn't happy for her friend. Of _course_ she was. It had just taken her by surprise, come out of the blue. They had only been back together for a year, and the last parting had been awful at best. She'd thought that they would have taken a bit more time to get back to where they'd been before before rushing into marriage. She was a bit worried for her friend, that was all. It wouldn't do to get too invested only for things to go wrong all over again.

Oh, who was she kidding? There was only one possible explanation for the sinking feeling in her stomach, the sickness that gnawed at her gut.

She was jealous. She was jealous that, once more, Mary had everything and she had nothing. She did not begrudge her friend her happiness, not one part of it, but it did not change the basic facts. Mary had reunited with Matthew despite the acrimonious end to their relationship, and all she had were scraps from the man she was in love with. Even those scraps were barely enough to live on, because he had already made it clear how he felt about the idea of them ever being more than friends.

"Have you thought about a date yet?" she forced herself to ask.

"I was thinking next March, perhaps. That gives us nearly a year to prepare everything, and spring weddings are always nice."

"Yes," Anna said softly, "they are."

Not to be outdone, Ethel proclaimed, "I have some news too!"

Relieved for the distraction, Anna turned to her with more enthusiasm. "Oh?"

Ethel looked like she had never looked before; she looked _shy_ , like a schoolgirl who was just about to embark on her very first date. It was disconcerting. This was not the Ethel that Anna had always known.

"Do you remember the policeman who came to the career day last year?" she asked.

"Vaguely," said Anna. Her mind had been rather preoccupied with John Bates since that day, and she had not taken notice of any of the other men on offer.

"Well, you'll remember how I liked the look of both him and the fireman."

That was certainly not something she'd forget, especially when Ethel liked the look of every man who came about. "You went out with both of them a few times, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I chose Josh in the end. The fireman."

Which hadn't lasted long at all. The bad boy curse had struck again. He'd gone back to his old flame within four months. "I remember."

"Well, when I was grocery shopping last night with Charlie, I ran into Darren, the policeman. We started talking, and he asked if I would like to have a drink again sometime. I don't know why I didn't see how much better he was the first time. He's so lovely and caring. Comes from the job, I suppose."

"So you're going to see him again?" said Anna.

"I think so. I mean, I know I finished with him last time, but I'm wondering if I made a mistake. He never did anything wrong. He was perfect, really. I suppose I was just still too attracted to the idea of the bad boy and I overlooked what a great guy he was."

So Ethel was getting a second chance too.

"Well, that's great," she said. "I'm happy for you." Her tone sounded anything but, and she shook her head. "I am. Really. You deserve a man who wants to treat you and Charlie right."

Ethel beamed at her. "I know. It's so important that whatever partner I do end up with loves my son too. Charlie is always going to be the most important thing in my life."

Anna nodded, lapsing back into silence. It was good that Ethel might have found someone worth taking a leap with. Most of it was through her own choices, but she had been badly burned by Charles in the past, and he had made her lose confidence for a long time despite the front she put on. Her flitting from man to man, never staying long enough for feelings to develop, had been a direct result of his unfeeling actions. Charlie deserved more too, more than a man who had been nothing but a sperm donor, and a grandfather who made no secret of how much he disliked Ethel.

And yet she couldn't help her second wave of cancerous jealousy. Everything was falling into place for everyone but her. Did the universe not believe that she had a right to be happy? First there had been her dad's death, then that monster masquerading as another father figure, then Steve's betrayal, and now John's unfair lead tugging...

Perhaps she really was destined to spend the rest of her life alone. There was nothing wrong with that, but she'd always dreamed of more. Even in her darkest times, she had hoped that one day she would be strong enough to move on, that one day she would find that one man who was unlike the rest and go on to build a happy life with him, surrounded by their children. She'd thought that she'd found that in Steve, until she'd discovered that he couldn't keep it in his trousers and was just the same as the rest, trying to pin the blame on her, as if she'd held a gun to his head and forced him to sleep with Sarah Anderson.

The difference with John was that it was more than just her thinking. She _knew_. It was different to what she'd had with Steve in every way possible. No amount of time could change her feelings. She would love him and want him for the rest of her life. They'd barely shared a thing, and yet somehow he had made her into the person she was always supposed to be. He had spoiled all other men for her. The fantasy children who had always been a little distorted, even with Steve, as if she was trying to see them through a shadowed veil, had become clear and solid. At least three of them, at least one of each, dark haired and dark eyed like their daddy, perhaps one blue eyed and blonde haired to look like her. The perfect mix of them.

Now it seemed that that would never come to pass.

She'd never been more grateful for the registration bell. She went through the day in a haze, losing her train of thought, stumbling over her explanations. More than once, students asked her if she was feeling well, concern etched onto their faces.

"You look well pale, Miss," they kept saying.

She waved them all off. She did not do illness at the best of times, and she wasn't about to start begging off now, not for anything. She _did_ duck out of the staffroom at dinner, citing a slamming headache, and instead sat alone in her classroom, staring sightlessly at those four walls, her sandwiches untouched. Time seemed to trickle by, giving her endless minutes to think about the man she was in love with. She purposefully changed her lesson plan with her year sevens so she was more heavily involved, forcing herself to concentrate on something else.

It could only stave off reality for so long. When she'd got home, changed into her pyjamas, and forced herself to eat a few mouthfuls, she turned off the lights and crawled into bed. There, she made herself a nest from the covers so she could hide from the world, and for the first time since she had told Mary about John's rejection those months before, she buried her face in her pillow and cried.

* * *

 _June_

The weeks continued to pass. Mary blossomed and glowed with happiness as she started to make the first of her wedding preparations. Ethel's relationship with Darren the policeman started to flourish. Anna had even caught her sending a sappy text to him, completely unheard of for her. Around her, people seemed as happy as lovebirds. Even shy Joseph Molesley had taken the shyest, chastest of first steps forward with the new Textiles teacher, Phyllis Baxter, his crush on her fading at last.

When John's next letter fell through the letterbox, she did not greet it with the same anticipation as she had with the rest. His words were sweet and familiar, but they did not bring one tiny modicum of comfort. For the very first time, it hit her. This was all John really would ever offer her. There would never be anything else. She was clinging to a fantasy in her mind that would never be realer than the dreams she had in her sleep.

 _I miss hearing you laugh,_ said his latest missive. _I miss everything about you._

But that was as a friend, not as a lover. Whatever he said, they were out of sync. Even if he came back, they would be worlds apart. They had each made their positions clear, and there could be no coming back from that now.

The thought made her feel more alone than ever.

* * *

 _July_

It had been another tiring day at work. Exam season had passed in all of its gruelling glory, and Anna was only just recovering from the extra strain that invariably was put upon her, too; in the weeks coming up to those exams, she had been cycling between constant appeals to go over certain topics again and trying to calm down the more panicky amongst them. That time of the year made her nervous. She wasn't the one taking the exams, and it wasn't down to her how much effort they put into their revision in their own time, but she would hate to think that she had failed any of them in any way.

This evening, she wearily threw down her keys. Leo greeted her with his tail high in the air, and she bent down to heft him up into her arms, burying her face into his fur and inhaling his sweet scent. She was glad she had his lovely face waiting for her. He waited while she changed, then came and snuggled beside her on the sofa. She had some marking to do for her younger students, but she would tackle that later, after she'd eaten.

She made her tea and ate it in front of the telly while she watched one of the teatime quiz shows, then tidied away before retrieving the exercise books. As she worked, however, her mind drifted.

Mary engaged. Ethel finally seeming serious about someone. It seemed that everyone she knew was finally moving forward and getting on with their lives, but she was still stuck here, treading water, waiting to breathe again. She had thought that she was strong enough to deal with John just wanting to be her friend, but her conflicting feelings and loneliness in the wake of her friends' happiness showed her otherwise. It was too hard.

So it was time. Time to make new goals. Time to exist beyond keeping her head above the water. It was time for her to do something for herself.

Fate seemed to agree with her.

While she was sitting in front of the evening's soaps, her phone rang. Frowning, she glanced down at the caller ID, then scrambled to mute the TV.

"Gwen!" she squealed when she accepted the call. "This is a wonderful surprise!"

"It's so good to hear your voice!" her friend said cheerfully.

"You too! Oh, I can't believe you're ringing! It's been so long!"

"It has! I'm so sorry about that. Things have been hectic over here."

"You don't need to apologise. Are you still enjoying it?"

"I'm loving it, Anna. It's amazing."

Gwen had left for America two years ago, to pursue her lifelong dream of working abroad. She'd landed herself a teaching job at a government funded organisation, teaching ICT to underprivileged men and women. They kept in touch as and when they could, the time differences sometimes making it difficult, but it had been a while since Anna had last heard from her friend.

They chatted for a while about the respective happenings in their lives, Anna sharing gossip from her friends that Gwen would be interested in, and Gwen in turn telling her about all of the amazing things she had seen and done.

"It sounds fantastic," Anna sighed, reaching for her mug of tea and taking a sip.

"Well, that's part of what I'm ringing for."

She frowned, planting her feet back on the floor and leaning forward, as if her friend would be able to read her curious body language through the phone. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I've got some exciting news! I was speaking with the woman who runs our organisation today, and she said that she needs to replace the woman who teaches the English course because she'll be going on maternity in January."

"Okay," said Anna, uncertain of where this was going.

"Don't you see? This would be perfect for you! How many times have you said that you've always wanted to see America? This is your opportunity! You've just said that you're not seeing anyone, so what's tying you to England? Obviously there would be have to be an interview, but I put in a good word for you and I can tell that Sonia is interested in speaking to you."

"Oh, God, I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll think about it. I'll ring you back in a few days and if you're interested, I'll tell Sonia to give you a ring. But I really think you should consider it. You'd be great. Just think, Anna, helping adults who are trying to build better lives for their families. Think how rewarding it would be."

It would be rewarding, there was no denying that. She already took great pride and love in her job as a teacher, helping the young teens of Downton to rise above their difficult starts. What would it be like to watch men and women build up their reading and writing skills so they could try to help their families?

But it wasn't as simple as Gwen thought it was. She did not have a boyfriend, but she did have John.

John, who had rejected her. John, who even now simultaneously pushed her away and sucked her back in with the words that he sent across continents to her heart.

How was remaining just feasible? How could they pretend that nothing had changed when everything had changed? How was it fair of him to dangle a carrot in front of her nose without ever giving her the chance to take a bite of it?

She had never really given serious consideration to the idea that she could live in another country. She was a Yorkshire lass born and bred, and had rarely been beyond those perimeters to the rest of the United Kingdom, never mind abroad.

But she wasn't sure if she could stay here while the rest of her friends made plans for their futures while she remained stuck in the past. There could be no moving on from John Bates, but that did not mean that she wanted to be pitied for the rest of her life while her friends married and had families. She did not want to be known as the spinster aunt, the one so heartbroken that she was trapped in a static moment. That wasn't who she was. She was a fighter. She had to keep on fighting.

"I'll think about it," she said to Gwen, in a voice that wasn't quite steady.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Great," her friend said cheerfully. "I'll catch up with you in a couple of days. See you soon."

"See you soon, Gwen."

She waited until she heard the long beep in her ear that signalled the connection had been cut. Then, throwing her phone on to the coffee table, she buried her face in her hands.

What was she supposed to do now?

* * *

Over the next week, Gwen's words echoed in her head. Rather than being consumed with thoughts of John, her mind instead whirred with the possibilities of what this could bring. If it was even possible. There was her Leo to think about, for one thing. She would never leave him behind, no matter what. America was a long way from England. It was a temporary role at best, and she'd either have to apply to stay in the US for longer, or she would have to return to Britain. Either way, she would be without a job, with barely anything to tide her over until she could find work again. She would be in a place where she didn't know anyone apart from Gwen. She would be starting her life all over again for the second time.

But…but perhaps that wasn't a bad thing.

Here, she was living a half-life, a ghost's life. She was drifting without an anchor, doomed to wander like a lost soul punished by the gods. If she stayed where John was, she would never move on.

She knew she would never move on in her heart, but she was resilient and she was practical. She could move on enough to build a satisfactory life.

Even if she didn't get this opportunity, something had to be done. She was at an impasse. What she chose to do next would shape her future. Sometimes the only thing that could be done was to leave those things loved behind and remember them with fondness instead of bitterness. She did not want her relationship with John to sour, but she recognised that they had reached the end of the road. She living in perpetual mourning, him in guilt for not being able to give her what she wanted, that was no life to lead. One of them had to be brave, and she had decided to be that person.

John would be coming back to Downton at the end of November, she had heard through Mary. She wanted to be away by then, whatever happened. She could even go to Scotland or London, and be lost in the crowd that way.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, but she was filled with determination. She had made a decision, and it was a decision she could stand by.

When Gwen rang her back, she began without preamble. "Well? Have you made up your mind?"

The mobile almost slipped out of Anna's sweaty fingers, but she tightened her grip.

"Yes," she said, "I have. Tell them I'm interested, Gwen."

* * *

 _August_

She was contacted about the interview, and a date was arranged. She didn't tell a soul of her plans. She needed to work out exactly what she was doing before she announced it in case anyone tried to talk her out of it.

The interview was conducted over Skype. Hardly Anna's favourite choice, but there was no other way, and it was better than a telephone interview. The woman leading it, Sonia Scott, was a cheerful, bubbly woman, who put her at ease. She talked about some of the things expected for the role, what they did in the community, and the tough environment it could be. She asked about Anna's qualifications and experiences, and seemed impressed when she heard about the school in Downton. They discussed the living arrangements should she be successful, and when she would be required to come over (January would be the start date, but she could come over before if she so wished), and the interview concluded with Sonia's promise that she would be in touch soon whatever the outcome.

Now all Anna could do was wait.

* * *

Well, that wasn't exactly the truth. Now that the first steps had been taken, she had to follow through.

She told Mary and Ethel first. And then she told Mr. Carson, who would need to find a replacement for her for after October half-term. He was not best pleased, and while Anna was sorry for leaving him in the lurch, she could not regret it. She would write a letter to John explaining the circumstances nearer the time.

The hardest conversation was still to come.

She tried to think of little excuses to stave off the inevitable. Margaret would be too busy to have an impromptu visit from a woman she had only met once. _She_ was too busy to spare the time for an impromptu visit to a woman she had only met once. Margaret likely wouldn't even care one way or the other, so what was the point in wasting both of their times?

And yet she had to tell her. If John returned before his letter reached him, then Margaret ought to know so she could tell him.

She could stall no longer.

It felt very much like a long walk to the gallows as Anna made her way across the town to the Bates residence. She'd decided to prolong it as much as possible by eschewing the car, but every step made her stomach churn as if she was going to be sick. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, trying to keep in control. She wasn't very successful.

She was practically dragging her feet by the time she reached that neat house, but it was something she could delay no longer. She had arrived, and she had a task to complete.

She trudged up the garden path and knocked on the front door. Margaret's outline appeared at the door.

"I've got a sign in the window," she said. "No unsolicited callers. Go away. I'm not interested in what you're selling."

"I'm not selling anything," she said. "It's Anna Smith, Margaret. I came to you at Christmas. Do you remember me?"

" _Anna?"_ said Margaret. "Of course I do! One minute!"

There was the scraping of keys in the lock, and the door opened. Anna came face to face with Margaret Bates for the first time in over half a year. The older woman, moving with a surprising velocity, threw her arms around her.

"I can't believe it!" she said. "I'm glad you're here! I kept hoping you'd come and visit, but you never did. What brings you here? Are you all right? You're shaking like a virgin on her wedding night. Come in."

"Oh, no, I shouldn't—" she started to protest, but she was bundled over the threshold with unexpected strength. Standing there, breathing in the same smells that she had inhaled that December day, made the memories flood back. Unwanted memories of the way John had looked at her, the way it had felt to be tucked into his side…

"I'll get you a cup of tea," said Margaret. "That'll warm your cockles. Go and sit down, dear. I'll bring it through to you."

"I'm not stopping," she said.

She regretted the sharpness instantly when Margaret cast her a shocked, uncertain look. "All right, dear. What can I do for you, then?"

This was it. There was no ducking out of it now. Taking a moment to gather her courage, she said, "I came here to tell you something that I feel you ought to hear first-hand from me."

Margaret's expression was carefully guarded. "You've met someone?"

"No, nothing like that. I came to tell you that I'm moving."

Margaret's eyes widened. " _Moving?_ Moving where?"

"I don't know yet," she answered honestly. "I've had an interview for a job in America."

"America? Good lord. I'm hearing things."

"I've not heard back from them yet. It's not set in stone. But even if I don't get it, I can't stay in Downton. I've been giving serious consideration to Scotland or London if I'm unsuccessful."

"I don't understand," said Margaret. "Where has all this come from? And, more importantly, why do I need to know? What's it to me?"

Anna didn't like the way that the older woman was looking at her. It was shrewd.

Accusatory.

"What did John say?" she asked, showing not one crack in that façade. "I know you speak, because he's mentioned it in his letters to me."

And here they were, at the very crux of the matter.

Anna kept her head held high. It took every inch of her courage not to drop her gaze like a guilty criminal. She had done nothing wrong. All of this was down to John. She would not let anyone else make her feel like she had any blame in this.

"I haven't spoken to John about it," she said, speaking slowly so that her voice didn't wobble and betray her. "He doesn't know any of it. That's why I've come to you. I want you to tell him if the letter I'm going to send doesn't reach him before he returns here."

"Why not just tell him yourself?"

"I can't."

"And why not?"

"I can't explain."

"You're going to have to, if you expect me to do your dirty work for you."

"I don't see it as dirty work. I see it as you passing on a message for me."

"From where I'm standing, I see it as cowardly."

"I'm not a coward, Margaret. Don't call me a coward." It brought back awful, awful memories, reduced her to the shrinking girl she had been back in those days, voiceless with fear as her stepfather's stinking breath hit her hot in the face, his hand just barely ghosting her body, out of sight of her mum's wilfully blind gaze.

"What else should I call it? You're running away from here with nary an explanation."

"I will explain it all to John in the letter I'm sending, but he won't need it. He'll know."

"Well, that's good, because I don't have the foggiest idea what's going on. Have you had a falling out? Is that it? He's never said. Even then, a falling out is no reason to just leave."

"It's more complicated than that."

"Johnny hasn't said—"

"He wouldn't have, would he?" she snapped. "Because as far as I can see, he seems determined to sweep the whole thing under the carpet."

Much to her horror, her voice started to crack, and scalding tears bloomed behind her eyes. No. She couldn't cry. She _couldn't_.

"Anna?" said Margaret in alarm.

Somehow, that was the moment everything shattered. The tears stormed forth, and she covered her mouth with a fist as she began to sob. God, this was the worst thing that could have happened—

A warm hand touched her arm. Margaret had moved closer, and was standing awkwardly by her.

"Heavens, girl, please don't cry," she said. "Nothing can be as bad as all that. God can give you the strength to fix things. You're going to have to tell me what this is all about now. What has Johnny tried to brush under the carpet? What's really going on here?"

There was no other choice. _The truth will out_ , wasn't that what they said? She would tell the truth now, whatever the consequences. Perhaps it would help her cleanse her soul. Like confessional. Perhaps it would help, telling someone who loved him too. Mary had been a good friend and listener, but she did not understand because she couldn't fathom what she saw in him.

"Something happened at New Year," she sniffled. "I told…I told John I loved him, but he didn't take it well."

"What do you mean? He rejected you?"

Anna nodded, wiping at her eyes. "He said that he wouldn't be any good for me."

"That silly boy," Margaret muttered. "Why on earth would he do that?"

"He mentioned his…his wife. His ex-wife. Vera."

"I see." Margaret's voice was soft. "What did he tell you about her?"

"Barely anything. He'd never even bothered to tell me he'd been married, Mrs. Bates. I thought he trusted me, but I was shown to be a fool."

"You're not a fool," she said. "And don't call me Mrs. Bates. I'm still Margaret. I'm not saying he was right not to tell you. But you have to understand, Vera made his life hell."

"How am I supposed to know any of this if he doesn't trust me enough to tell me? What am I supposed to do?"

Did thinking that make her a hypocrite? What of her own dark secrets? Anna pushed the thought away. This was about him, not her.

Margaret gave an agonised sigh. "Let me make you that cup of tea. And maybe I can make some things clearer for you."

"I wouldn't want to put you in a difficult position."

"No, I think you deserve to know some things. And if it's seen as a betrayal, then I ask for God's forgiveness. Come on."

Anna allowed herself to be guided into the sitting room, and sat there staring into the fireplace, only dimly aware of the older woman clattering around in the background. She shivered violently, hunching in on herself. She felt as cold as if she had caught hypothermia.

Margaret returned and pushed the steaming mug into her hands. She did not speak for a long time. Anna could see the conflict in her face, the debating whether she was truly doing the right thing.

At last, she spoke.

"John and Vera had a long history together," she said, twisting her hands in her lap. "They met each other in London. Vera had just moved there from Ireland, and I suppose he liked that reminder of home. They became very close very quickly. I never liked her. I thought there was something sly and untrustworthy about her, but John wouldn't hear a thing against her. I didn't like it, but I didn't interfere. I expected that it would fizzle with John going to university—he was eighteen, she was seventeen at the time—but it didn't. He never told me much, but I think they were seeing each other whenever they could, and he never did have his head turned by another girl, like I was hoping."

"So what happened?" asked Anna. She was thinking of the day they'd met, when he'd given the talk to the students and told them that life had prevented him from pursuing his career in English further.

"Vera told him she was pregnant," Margaret said simply. "He'd just finished university and had been considering his Masters but Vera told him that he had to get a job and make some proper money to support them."

Pregnant. Vera had been pregnant. Did that mean he had a child somewhere too? Another huge secret he had neglected to tell her?

Margaret must have seen it in her face. She shook her head. "He did the honourable thing and married her because he didn't want anyone looking at her funny, and he signed up for the army. He went away to train, and a few weeks later, she told him that she'd miscarried."

"But you didn't believe her?" Anna ventured.

"I didn't. Or if she was ever pregnant, it weren't with Johnny's baby. I told you, there was a wildness about her. She did whatever she wanted, come hell or high water."

"What happened?"

"They muddled on for a time. John was rarely home, so they didn't see much of each other, and Vera and I didn't see each other in his absence, either. It suited me down to the ground. Our dislike was mutual. But bit by bit things started to fall apart. They both drank heavily when they were together. I don't think it helped that he was seeing death and destruction at every turn, either. The arguments were constant and bitter."

"Was…was he violent?" Anna whispered, her mouth as dry as sawdust. He did not seem the type, with those large, gentle hands and those crinkling eyes and that soft smile. But she knew better than anyone that looks could be deceptive, and did she really know him at all?

"No!" said Margaret. "Not violent." She added, "But he could be harsh at times, with a tongue like a razor. I feared for him sometimes, that he might be drinking on the job. I don't know if something ever happened while he was out there, but one day he stopped it all. He's never touched a drop since. The very next time he came home, he told Vera that he wanted a divorce. She kicked up a stink about it and dragged her feet. It took him nearly five years to get away from her, and that was only after he let her have the house. We moved up here to get away from her, and then he met you."

"And that's everything?" she asked softly.

"That's everything."

"Then what was so bad about any of that that he felt he couldn't tell me the truth?"

"I don't know," Margaret said helplessly. "It's just the kind of man that Johnny is. He felt he'd ruined Vera's life, that the way it ended so bitterly was all his fault. The army life meant that he was rarely home, and Vera was quick to throw it back in his face whenever they argued. She made no secret of her infidelities, either. I think it hurt him more than he let on."

"So he's still in love with her?"

"God, no. No, that died a long time ago. But she was a big part of his life for over two decades, and it's not always as simple as that. I saw the way he looked at you at Christmas. And I've seen the way he writes about you. He loves you, Anna. I know he does."

"So why would he push me away?"

"Only he can truly answer that. All I know is that he's never looked at another woman in all those years he was separating from Vera, and now he can't keep away from you. He's never been like that with anyone else. Never. Please believe me."

"What difference does it really make?" Anna said miserably.

"It makes a huge difference! You know how he feels about you now."

Anna set down her tea. It had gone stone cold. She had not taken one sip. "But I don't really know."

"You do! I've just told you."

"That's the point. _You_ told me. It's not enough from you. Because _you're_ the one telling me that he needs me. He's not telling me himself. If he really wanted me, _he_ would have told me."

"You're not giving him the opportunity to. You're upping sticks without saying a word. How can he tell you if you're not telling him until after you go? He's not going to ask you to come back for him. That's not Johnny's style. But he'd ask you to stay if you told him now."

Even with those assertions, Anna wasn't sure. John did not strike her as the type of person who would stop her from chasing her dreams if she told him she was going, no matter how much he wanted her to stay. No, she felt like they had missed their chance. This was how it was supposed to be for her, a lifetime of building her life without the man she wanted. If John had truly, truly wanted her, he would not have allowed his fears to defeat him so easily. He would have fought them, let her fight them. Not shut her out for weeks and then tell her that he wanted to be her friend. And _that_ was unfair to her.

Whatever Margaret believed, this was the only way.

"None of it makes a difference," she said. "I've told you my plans now. If John gets back before his letter reaches him, tell him. Tell him that I wish him well in the future, but I have to think about myself."

She stood. Her heart felt empty as she looked at the anguish on the other woman's face. Her chest was an empty chasm. He had taken her heart and he hadn't replaced it with his own.

"I'm sorry," she offered, then turned away, needing to get out. She made it into the hall before Margaret clasped her arm in a vice grip.

"Please don't go," she said. "I'm begging you. For your own sake, don't go. And, yes, for Johnny's too. I don't know what it would do to him to see you gone."

"He doesn't know what it's doing to me to stay," she said softly. "I'm sorry, Margaret. But I'm not strong enough to just be his friend. I know you've said that he loves me, but it's not enough to hear it from you. I have to hear it from his lips. That's the only way I could stay."

There was nothing more to add. Unable to bear looking at the tired old woman's stricken face for a moment longer, she turned away, heading out of the door and out of her life for good.

* * *

 _September_

Tentative preparations began to take shape. She needed to enquire about what she would do with Leo just in case. Her little man would be following her across the continent separately, but she wanted to ensure that he would be as comfortable as possible on the journey. There was also the matter of where she would live if she was indeed successful. Gwen had told her that she could crash with her, but she didn't want to impose on her friend's generosity for long. She needed to work out what budget she had to live on with her savings for the first month, until she either officially started or until she could get some kind of job in London or Scotland to fill the interim while she looked for something better suited. The travel costs to America, at least, would be funded by the company.

Throwing herself into these indefinite plans gave her something to focus on. Took her mind away from the fact that she was cowering away from being honest with John, had avoided his mother at every turn she could because she did not want to see the sad reproach in her eyes. Margaret had been round once—she must have got her address out of Cora—but she hadn't answered the door.

Her friends were no less difficult. Mary's refused to even accept the idea of her leaving, and Ethel's constant talk about all the fit Americans she could make her way through, for they would surely be unable to resist her broad Yorkshire lilt, began to grate.

But if she was successful, she was going to go, whatever anyone else said. And either way, her notice to quit sat in an envelope ready to be handed to her landlord.

Things would become clearer when she knew the outcome of her job interview. The proper plans would come in the days that followed. As soon as she heard one way or the other, she would hand it in and use her month's notice to get ready to take off. There was no turning back from it.

It couldn't be long now.

* * *

Today was a big day.

Anna stood outside the post box for a full minute, the letter addressed to John tight in her grip. This was it. Once she let go of this letter, she couldn't change her mind.

She felt like she was going to be sick, but she still lifted her arm. The post box's opening seemed to yawn black and foreboding in front of her. She pushed her hand through, then paused, not quite able to let go. She had explained everything in the best terms she could. She had wished him all the best for the future. There had been no accusations, no whining. Just the bare information she was required to give him.

There was no coming back from it now.

She let go.

* * *

There was little point in doing much shopping when she could be going at a moment's notice. Anna picked up a basket from the supermarket's foyer and made her way inside. It was obvious that the six week holidays were just days away from being over; parents buzzed around the discounted uniform like flies, snapping up whatever they could get their hands on, holding shirts and dresses up to disgruntled kids to ascertain whether they were worth taking a gamble on. Anna weaved in and out of it all, picking up the groceries that she needed and adding a few extra treats for Leo, apologising in advance for the potential parting they would have to endure while they travelled separately to America.

In her bag, her mobile rang.

"Can't you turn that thing off even when you come shopping?" said a sour-faced old woman behind her as Anna tried to jostle her handbag and basket while she delved in its depths searching for what she needed. "Honestly, back in my day..."

Anna zoned out the old woman's chuntering, staring down at the incoming call. Another mobile, but she didn't recognise the number. It wasn't a contact. Usually only Mary and Ethel rang her, her sister on rare occasions and her mum on even rarer.

"Will you move out of the way?" the old woman snapped. "You're blocking the cheese. Young people today have no manners."

Anna grabbed a block of cheese without even looking at it, and dropped it into her basket as she rejected the call. It would only be a cold call.

She grabbed a few more bits then headed to the checkouts, loading her things on the belt.

"Would you like any help with your packing?" the cashier asked.

"No, that's okay," she said. She started to fill the bags as the things came down.

Her phone rang again. And kept going.

"Sounds urgent," said the old man waiting behind her. "Any clue what it's about? Your young man, perhaps?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," she said lightly. Even now it pierced her chest. "It'll not be too important. I'll pick it up later."

After a long time, it finally silenced. Relieved, she paid for her purchases and hurried back to her car, checking her call log after she'd put her bags in the boot. The same number again. Sighing, she threw her handbag on the passenger seat and set the ignition going.

Halfway home, it started again.

"Go away," she muttered to herself, throwing an irritated glance at her handbag. God, she hated persistent callers like that, whose only purpose was to irritate until the phone owner gave in just for some peace.

It did finish a few minutes later. Breathing a sigh of relief, Anna got home and gathered her carriers together. Leo greeted her at the door, dancing round her feet as if he sensed that she had brought something back for him.

"Silly love," she said affectionately, bending down to scratch his ears when she'd dumped her things on the worktop. "Give me a minute."

Before she'd even had the chance to dig into her bags, the mobile phone started again. She swore, slamming her keys down. Enough was enough. She'd pick the bloody thing up and tell them where to go. And lord help them if they decided to get in contact any more...

Rooting through her bag, she retrieved her phone and jabbed the answer button forcefully.

"Now look here, go fu—"

"Anna? Is that you? Oh, thank God!"

All of the indignant fluster left her at once; the phone almost slipped out of her fingers as she grabbed for the counter.

"Margaret?" she gasped. "How on earth did you get my number?" Had John passed it on to her?

Margaret sounded breathless and panicky. "I got it off Mary. She wanted to ring you but I wanted to do it myself."

Icy foreboding froze her veins and made her blood run cold. "Margaret, what's going on? What's so urgent that you had to keep calling me?"

Had something happened to her? Had she taken ill, and had turned to her in her son's absence? Had she got lost somewhere? Had...had Vera turned up? The endless possibilities swirled round in her head, nipping at each other's heels.

Nothing on earth could have prepared her for the next words. In a million years she would never have predicted those next words.

"Anna, it's John. I had to let you know. He's been injured. Shot in the leg. It's bad. They're sending him back to England. Anna? Hello?"

For long moments, Anna stared into nothing, the whole world swaying and flickering. When her legs would no longer hold her weight, she sank down against the counter. Her stomach roiled. The phone came away from her ear, the sounds taking on a strange, ethereal quality as the tinny, indistinctive shout came from the device.

It slipped from her boneless fingers and cracked on the tiled floor as she buried her face in her shaking hands.

* * *

In her mind, John had been invincible. A hero. God-like. Now, in the most horrible of fashions, Anna realised that he was just a man.

Days later, he was back in Downton, along with Robert Crawley. They brought him in full of morphine. The only indication that he lived was the soft rise and fall of his chest. His face was as still as the grave.

It was so hard to look upon those beautiful features and see them marred with scrapes and bruises. Somehow, even with his giant size, he looked so small in that hospital bed.

Over a coffee in the dingy cafeteria, Anna met Margaret, whey-faced and clearly in shock. Without thinking about it too much, she swept the older woman into her arms and squeezed her tight, allowing herself to shed a few tears. They were the only two women in the world who loved him. There was kinship in that.

"I'm glad you came," said Margaret, dabbing at her eyes.

"Of course I came," said Anna. Whatever had happened, it did not change the facts. She still loved him. Seeing him broken in that bed was the most terrifying thing she had ever gone through. It trumped everything else, every other trauma she had endured.

The doctor put in charge of John's case called them in later to see him. He introduced himself as Doctor Clarkson, then launched into the finer details of his condition.

"I have the report from the base in Afghanistan in front of me," he said, "and I have conducted my own examinations on Sergeant Bates. It seems that they were able to extract most of the bullet that lodged itself in his knee."

"Most?" said Margaret. "Why not all?"

"It was too risky. The shrapnel has lodged itself in a part of the muscle tissue. It would be too risky to try to extract it. Sergeant Bates will always walk with a limp from now on, but if we risked trying to extract it all, then there is a chance that we would paralyse him for life, or have to take his leg from the knee entirely."

"T-Take his leg?" Margaret squeaked.

"It could be easy to damage the nerves in his knee. If the shrapnel ever moves again, we might attempt it. But until then, it will stay where it is."

"Won't that cause discomfort?" Anna asked.

"It will, but I'm afraid it's just going to have to be something he learns how to live with. It should be manageable for the most part, and it is a preferable alternative to him losing the leg entirely."

It was a sobering, frightening thought. John had always stood so tall and proud. Now he was being robbed of his sense of wholeness.

At least he was alive, she reminded herself.

"Everything else seems fine," said Doctor Clarkson, dragging her back to the present. "He has a cracked rib and surface bruising from where he hit the ground, but other than that he is fine. The scarring on his leg will be permanent, but it is a small price to pay for his life. He's under for now and he'll be out of it for a good few hours yet, but you're welcome to sit with him until visitation is over. Don't expect a response from him today. Perhaps tomorrow. But even then he'll be groggy."

"I want to sit with him," Margaret announced. "Please, let me sit with my son."

Doctor Clarkson nodded, pushing his seat back. "Miss Smith?"

"Yes," she whispered, and that was where she found herself ten minutes later, at John's damaged right side. Margaret sat on his left, staring glassy-eyed at his face.

"My baby," she whispered. "My darling baby."

John didn't move, apart from the soft inflation of his chest. His eyelashes were jet against his ghost-white face, made all the paler for the black bruising and fiery cuts that crisscrossed at various points. He had a thin bandage around his head, where he had struck something as he'd fallen to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Crusted blood was just visible beneath the rim.

He was tragedy personified, and Anna felt tears prickling her eyes again. But she pulled herself together. She would not cry in front of Margaret. She had to keep strong.

That didn't stop her from needing some semblance of comfort. When Margaret reached out to touch her son's forearm, Anna mirrored her on the other side, slipping her hand into John's unresponsive fist. She closed her own around him gently. It was the first time she had ever held his hand. It certainly wasn't how she had been fantasising about it. She wanted the strength of his fingers squeezing hers back, the rasp of his calloused tips caressing her sensitive skin and making it pimple. Never this.

She did not let go for the rest of the visitation. When it was time to go, there was still no change in John's condition. She left him there and parted with Margaret, who insisted to the nurse that she would be staying and they could do what they bloody liked to stop her, promising that she would come back tomorrow after work, and that she wanted to be kept in the loop in the meantime.

In her dreams, she saw the bullets, fired one after the other after the other, hitting him everywhere. She screamed as the blood exploded from him, and woke herself screaming, the singeing smell of the gunpowder cloying her nostrils.

* * *

Mary was waiting for her in the carpark the next day, unusual for her. As soon as Anna had shimmied wearily out of her car, her friend was on her, engulfing her in a bear hug and squeezing her tight. The gesture was so unlike her calm and collected friend that it made her break her promise to herself immediately, the tears coming hard and fast.

"Hey!" Mary said, alarmed. "None of that! Don't let any of the kids see you. They'll be on you in a moment." Her tone softened, and she stroked her hair as Anna turned her head further into her friend's neck. "Please, Anna, darling, don't cry."

"I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I don't know what came over me."

"You've had a huge shock."

"So have you."

"Not as big as yours."

They stepped away from each other; Anna could feel Mary's discomfort coming off her in waves. They were indeed on different sides of this wall. Robert, thank God, had not been badly injured in the attack, a broken leg and several cracked ribs his only pains. John was in a much, much worse state. William, that lovely, lovely boy, would never return home to his family again. At least, not alive.

"I'm so glad that Robert is okay," said Anna. "Cora must be over the moon."

Mary looked tentative, as if she wasn't sure whether it was all right to revel in the fact when she was still waiting to hear what would happen to John. "They'll discharge him from the hospital in a couple of days. He won't talk about what happened, though, not even to Mama. All we know is that John saved him. We're forever in his debt."

Anna wiped her eyes. "John saved him?"

"Yes. I'm not surprised that John hasn't said anything."

That was the problem: John quite _literally_ hadn't said anything. He was either pumped full of morphine, or he did not speak, according to Margaret's morning report from her night at his bedside. Even that small snippet from Mary was news to Anna. It did not surprise her. John seemed the type of man to risk his life for someone else. That selflessness was in his DNA.

"Tell me about Robert," she said, not wanting to linger on those thoughts. "I'll try to get in to see him before he's discharged. It'll give me something positive to focus on."

Mary hesitated for another moment, then launched into the details of her parents' reunion. Sybil had raced over from Ireland on the first plane too, and had arrived there in the early hours. None of them had slept. Mary had come straight from the hospital to work.

"You shouldn't have come," Anna scolded. "Mr. Carson would have understood."

"Neither should you," Mary countered. "You should be with John."

"Robert is your father. That gives you the right to miss work. I don't even know what I should call John anymore, but he's certainly not my partner. I don't think I could justify not coming."

"John is the man you're in love with," Mary said simply. "I'd say that's a very valid reason for not coming."

"It still doesn't change the fact that we're not together. I don't think Mr. Carson has one notion of romance."

Mary gave a watery snort. "I suppose you're right. God, I don't want to go into the staffroom today."

"Another reason why you should have stayed away. Ethel is the only other person who knows about my friendship with John."

"I have to stay busy. I'd go mad otherwise. Papa has Mama, Edith, and Sybil there with him now."

Anna could understand the need to keep busy. It had been her coping mechanism for years. She reached out for her friend's hand.

"Let's just do the best we can," she said.

Mary nodded, straightening her back. Together, on those separate sides, they entered the lion's den.

* * *

The day was an exhausting blur. Questions were fired from every direction from the other teachers, many approaching her to find out how Mary _really_ felt, what had _really_ happened, how serious Robert's condition _really_ was, all ravenous journalists disguising themselves as sympathetic allies. John faded into the background. Anna was relieved to escape the scrutiny.

Not that it helped her head. Every spare moment she had, her mind went back to that hospital, to that sparse room where he was lying prostrate. Whenever she could, she sneaked a look at her phone, sending text after text to Margaret to ask for updates.

 _No change_ , was the constant reply. _No change._

The children were oddly muted, perhaps sensing that something drastic was going on. Anna couldn't blame them. Staring at herself in the mirror, she looked absolutely terrible. Pasty-faced without makeup, hollow-eyed with lack of sleep, frightened. Even the unruliest did not exploit the situation, perhaps sensing that it would push her over the edge.

When the day ended, she bid a drained goodbye to Mary and promised to let her know how John was doing. She made her way home and collapsed on the settee. She would not be able to stay here for long if she wanted to make visitation time, but she needed to have one moment of peace to gather herself.

Her phone rang.

Groaning, she bent down and ferreted in her handbag. It was probably Margaret. Her heart thumped painfully. God, what if something had happened and she hadn't been there? Without bothering to check the caller ID, she jammed it to her ear.

"Hello?" she said, her voice high and panicky.

"Miss Smith?"

The voice on the other end was only vaguely familiar. The giveaway was the accent. American.

The job. Jesus Christ, the _job_. In the mania of the last few days, she had forgotten all about it. The whole thing seemed like it had happened in another world, in another time. In another reality.

"Yes," she said.

"Miss Smith, this is Sonia Scott. You interviewed with me a few weeks ago."

"Yes. Please, call me Anna."

"Anna. Well, I think we've kept you in suspense for long enough. We had quite a few applicants, but we're pleased to tell you that you were successful."

Successful.

Anna let out a breath, moving her hand to massage her temple. Her whole body trembled feverishly. Warm tears sprang and leaked. A week ago, the news would have made her feel good, even with the pang of fearful finality.

"I got it?" she whispered.

"You did. Congratulations, Anna!"

She thought of John in that hospital bed, a broken man. She had wanted to move away. But how could she do that now, after she had seen what she had seen?

"Miss Smith? Hello? Are you still there?"

She tried to clear her throat. Her voice barely came out above a whisper. "I'm still here."

"You've done so well. We'd love to have you on board."

She felt as if she was witnessing the scene from outside her own body, her head light and swirling. She gripped the phone so tightly in her hand that her knuckles burst white, sweat making the handset slippery.

"I-I don't know what to say," she managed.

"I understand, it's a lot to take in." Sonia's voice on the other side was smooth, coaxing. "If you'd like, you can take a couple of days to let it sink in, and give us your answer then. We'll need to know by the fifteenth."

"I don't have to think about it," she blurted.

"Oh, yes?" said Sonia.

"Yes."

Anna took a deep breath. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. She'd spent a long, long time putting others' needs before her own. She'd promised herself that that would change, that for once she would take care of herself…starting with this. She'd done the hard work. She was on the cusp of a new life. A mere four weeks away from moving out of her property to an entirely new destination; the letter to her landlord had been waiting for this very moment.

And yet there was that horrible grey field that she had to wade through, her own murky feelings to process. It was not as easy as just taking the job and leaving England behind. She had her own heart to deal with.

She remembered mere weeks before, when John's mother had begged her to reconsider her thoughts. She'd told her that she couldn't, that this was something she had to do to move on.

But that had been then.

This was now.

So much had changed in those few weeks.

And reckless as she knew she was, she couldn't do it. She could not swan off to the other side of the world when the man that she was completely and utterly in love with was lying broken in a hospital bed, waiting to hear just how much his life would change forever. She could not leave her heart behind in his darkest hour, not even if it might destroy her in the process.

She had always been too unselfish.

It didn't matter. Right now, she had a choice to make. Whether it was the right one or the wrong one, her heart had already sealed the deal the moment she had heard the news.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I can't take the job."


	3. III

**A/N:** The final part, written for **batesessecretservices** ' Secret Santa Exchange, for the wonderful **miss-ute**! I hope you have had a wonderful Christmas Day, and that goes to all the other people in the A/B fandom too. :D

Warning for sex, swearing, memories of war, and recollections of child abuse. I hope I have handled them all sensitively.

This 'part' also contains a scene inspired by _Starfish_. If you were lucky enough to see it, you'll spot it a mile off, but even if you haven't, you'll probably be able to guess...I had the good fortune of it playing in a cinema near me, and it gave me all the feels and the need to see it A/B-ified.

Once again, thank you so, so much for the response to this fic. It's been amazing. I have lived and breathed it for the past eight weeks, and it has been a real slog at times. Every single spare moment I've had has been poured into making sure I got this finished. I wrote it on my breaks at work (on my phone if there were people around and I couldn't write on paper), I wrote it whenever I had a free minute at home. To read the comments has been amazing. Thank you all so much.

* * *

It was difficult, to see the man that she loved lying there a broken shell in his hospital bed, covered in mottling bruises and cuts that had been stitched closed. It was more difficult still to look into his eyes and see the dull depths of them. It was as if he had departed his body, leaving only the emptiness behind.

Whenever she could make the time, Anna went to visit him, no matter what it cost her to do it. Gone was the John Bates of old, the self-deprecating, gentle soul who could make her laugh with just a look and a sardonic quirk of the lips. It was as if that man had never even existed.

The John Bates before her was a storm cloud. Even his veneer was unrecognisable. The thick growth of beard on his face made his skin look sallow and pasty. Day by day he refused to eat more than a few mouthfuls. The weight slid off him. He grew gaunter and gaunter. So did his mother, who spent every moment worrying for him.

"I've never seen him like this before," she fretted. "Not even when he was at his worst with Vera was he ever like this. I don't know what to do, Anna. I'm scared."

All Anna could do was hold her in return, wondering how he could be so bloody selfish. It was far from easy for him, she knew that. He had already witnessed a hundred thousand horrors. Now he had almost been blown apart, had lost his whole career. Never being able to walk properly again was the biggest kick in the teeth of all.

But he was pushing them away, and it frightened her. He was intentionally isolating himself, and that would only make it more difficult than ever for him on the road to recovery. Anna knew from experience just what it was like to try to overcome a trauma alone. If she had had a strong network around her at that time, she would have seized it with both hands and never let it go.

As it was, John was being deliberately difficult, sharp-tongued and brooding. Half of the time he refused to see them, the rest of the time he lay in silence while they tried to make small talk with him, head turned in the opposite direction as if he wasn't even aware of their presence.

"He won't see me," said Robert one day when she went to visit him, agonised. "I've begged the nurses to let me in, but they refuse because he's said he doesn't want to see me. Why would he say such a thing? He's been my best friend all these years. He saved my _life_. And now he acts as if we're strangers. I don't know what to do."

In reality, there _was_ nothing that could be done. It was like waiting out a storm. But instead of this storm raging and tearing down the home above their heads, this storm was of the bitterly cold variety, sneaking into the bones until it couldn't be shaken off, slowly leeching the life out of the individual. Nothing could be done to anticipate it.

Nothing could be done to change him, no tactic employed worked. His mother's tired old face did not move him. He refused to acknowledge Robert. Cora's gushing about how she could never repay him simply made his lip curl in a sneer. Sybil's infectious innocence was met with indifference. Edith's quiet calm was not welcomed. Mary's no-nonsense suggestion that he ought to buck himself up was met with cold silence.

Initially, Anna had not been allowed into the room with him, but when he had seen that day after day she came and stood about outside regardless of whether she was allowed in or not, he must have eventually consented to letting her in. He did not speak to her, and she did not speak to him. She knew he wanted to draw her into some petty fight, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She needed to find a way to gain some ground, and right now, this was the only way. She spent those visiting hours sitting across from his mother, watching her old face wrinkle further in her worry for her only son. Every so often, a nurse would pop in to see how he was doing, but her appearances were only met by a grunt.

"This cannot go on forever," Doctor Clarkson, told them privately one day. "Mr. Bates needs to start facing his new life. It will be a long and painful process to get back to walking again. It will take a toll on him mentally as well as physically. He'll need all the support he can get."

"How can we do that when he won't let anyone in?" Margaret cried miserably.

Doctor Clarkson looked at them solemnly. "All you can do is persevere, Mrs. Bates. Persevere."

Which was what Anna had been determined to do. No matter what he threw at her, she kept coming back. She had given up America for him. He did not know the fact, but she was damned if he was going to beat her.

One day, evidently growing tired of her hovering around, John eventually snapped.

"You don't have to come here every day," he growled.

"I do," she said lightly. "I want to see how you're faring for myself."

"What does it matter how I'm faring?"

"Don't be like that. You know how much it means."

"Well, it shouldn't mean anything. I couldn't understand why it did before. I certainly can't understand it now. There's nothing left, Anna."

"There's always something left. Even if you have to look deep inside for it."

"There wasn't much left to begin with, not after Vera. Now there's nothing. It would have been better if things had ended in Afghanistan."

"You don't mean that."

His stare was cold and flat. "I do."

For a long moment, it was silent. Anna wrung her hands in her lap. She had to bring him back from the edge. Somehow.

"I know I can't understand what you went through," she said softly.

"No," he said coldly. "No, you couldn't understand."

"Then help me to," she said desperately. "If you told me—"

"You think it would be easier to understand my state of mind? What I'm going through? The psychological side of it all? You're an English teacher, Anna. You have no idea. You'd never be able to understand the inner workings of a killer."

Anna's breath stopped short. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm a killer," he repeated tonelessly.

"You're not a killer. What you do is in the line of duty, you don't go out there and open fire by choice—"

"I made a decision that killed someone else. That makes me a killer."

"Seriously, what are you talking about? John?"

For the first time, there was real emotion on his face, a pain so raw that Anna almost couldn't look at it. It cracked through his expression like an imperfection on fine glass, threatening to shatter everything in a moment. She didn't think he was going to answer her, but he did, his voice as sharp as that very crack of glass.

"William," he said. "I killed William."

"You didn't—"

"I did!" he shouted. "I had the choice, and I chose. I made that fucking decision—"

Now she understood what he wasn't saying. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed at his hand. It was cold and clammy and he tried to wrench it away, but she wouldn't let him, slipping her fingers through his and holding him tight.

"You are not to blame for any of this, do you hear me?" she said fiercely. " _None_ of this is your fault. Yes, you made that decision, but you made it in a split-second. A reflex, John. It could have gone either way. If you hadn't done it, then you would have been dead, and so would Robert. All three of your lives snuffed out in a single blow. Do you think that that's what William would have wanted? For all of you to be snuffed out like candles?"

"You didn't know William," he snapped.

"No, I didn't. Not like you did. But I like to think of myself as a decent judge of character. And in that afternoon where I met him, I thought him a kind, caring, gentle soul. It was obvious he would have done anything for you."

"And look how I repaid him. By leaving him to die."

"He wouldn't see it that way. I know he wouldn't. Would you have blamed him if he had been in your position and had been forced to choose between you and someone else?"

"Of course I wouldn't, but that's different!"

"How so?"

"Because I'm beyond help. I've had my life and I've squandered it. I would have been no great loss to the world."

"Your mother wouldn't see it that way. You are all she's got left in this whole world."

"William was all his father had left in the world," he returned harshly. "And I took that away from him. And I took it away from his wife. He got married the last time we had leave, you know. I was his best man. I had to lie about where I was going so that none of you were disappointed about me not coming to see you. And look how that's turned out. Daisy is a widow at barely twenty-one."

Anna bit her tongue, refusing to be drawn into a slanging match. Losing her temper would not help the situation. He was trying to goad her into it, but she wouldn't let him draw her there. She wouldn't let him reach the point where he was so alone because he had pushed everyone to the limit with his destructive, confrontational ways. What happened now was crucial to what could happen in the coming weeks and months. He was depressed, that was clear to see. Under these circumstances, that depression could be dangerous.

She had had her grandma in the years following what her stepfather had tried to do to her. Now she would pass that kindness on by being there for John in his darkest hour.

It was more than just a kindness.

She banished the thought. It was not constructive, and this was not about her. This was about finding a way forward.

"If that's the way you want to feel," she said slowly, "then fine. Blame yourself. Hate yourself. It might feel good to do that now, but I can guarantee that it won't feel good forever. And by then it will be too late."

"You have no idea how this feels," he growled.

She spread her hands apart, a gesture of surrender. She wouldn't tell him the truth, not yet, perhaps not ever, but that didn't mean she couldn't plant a grain of it.

"Maybe not," she said. "But I know people who have suffered in their lives. You're not the only one who has to face demons, Sergeant Bates."

"What do you mean?"

This was it. She took a deep breath. "I come across all sorts of tragedies in my line of work. It might not always seem probable, but I do. One story always stays with me. A girl I knew, a long time ago…she went through some tough times at home. Her stepfather…he didn't treat her the way he should have. She managed to fight her way through it, but her mum was reluctant to take the matter to the police because her husband provided such good security, security that she hadn't had in years. So she was shipped off to live with her grandma, and that was that. She tried to be strong, but it was in her eyes, John. She felt so alone because none of the people who should have stood up for her did. She was angry at everything, most of all herself. Had it been her fault that those things had happened to her? Was there anything she could have done differently to bring a different outcome? You know what she learned in time? No, there was nothing she could have done differently. None of it was her fault. Her stepfather was the root of all evil, not her. An innocent child forced to live with that, God, John. That's the world we live in today. Full of predators that can make their victims feel as if they had done wrong, that if they had done something differently then they would have been spared."

He was looking at her; for the first time since she'd entered the room, he was truly looking at her. She felt vulnerable, horribly exposed. He could not know. Blinking away the tears that had bloomed, determined not to draw more attention to them, she looked away and steadied herself. Somehow, disconnecting herself from the story made it easier. This way, it truly wasn't _her_.

"Who is the girl?" he whispered.

"I won't speak her name. She wouldn't thank me for bringing it up. She's a part of my past."

John was silent. Then, victory. He spoke.

"No doubt you've heard the details from Robert," he said, his voice shaking.

"No." Anna shook her head. "He's never breathed a word of any of it. Just said that you saved him. And that he was the one who managed to radio for help. He glossed over the details about how he was able to do that."

"We were heading out of town in one of the military SUVs. One of the other guys was driving. A Jordan Cricht. He wasn't that much older than William, maybe twenty-five. They're saying it was a Taliban attack, that we were targeted. We were transporting food. One of the front tyres blew. We didn't think too much of it at first. Things like that happen from time to time, and we always carry a spare. So we got out to assess the damage to determine whether we needed to radio for assistance. Jordan reckoned he could fix it—he'd been tinkering away at his dad's car before he'd joined the army—and it seemed so peaceful out there. We were stupid. We let our guards down for one minute…"

His throat worked, and she waited, hardly daring to breathe. This was the most he'd spoken since his arrival. His voice was cracked and hoarse, his words thick and heavy with despair.

"And then…and then something didn't feel quite right. It was too quiet. The air seemed too heavy, like it was holding its breath waiting for something to happen. And it did. Gunshots. Jordan was at the front of the truck, and his whole head exploded."

His jaw worked, as if he was struggling to contain the urge to be sick. Anna inched instinctively closer, laying her hand on his thigh, trying to communicate that she was here, that she was listening.

"Christ, do you have any idea what that's like? One minute he was there, talking and laughing, and the next his fucking _head_ was gone."

All she could do was move her hand further up, until it came into contact with his own. His twitched, as if he would like nothing more than to take her fingers and twine them through his own. To centre him. But he did not take them. Not yet.

"It all happened so quickly after that," he said. His voice was trembling now. He was on the verge of tears, she could tell. Probably the first tears he had cried since the whole thing had happened. "Robert, William, and I were all standing there. We looked up, and there were two men in front of us. It seems so obvious now, that they'd blown the tyre out, but it didn't occur to us that there might have been foul play involved. I don't even think it registered that they must have been the ones to do what they did to Jordan. Not until they raised their guns again. One on each side. One pointing at William. One pointing at Robert. And I chose. I pushed Robert to the side and took the bullet in the leg, and I let William take his to the chest. I see it every time I close my eyes. Wonder why I chose Robert and not William. What I would do if I had to do it all over again. It's going round and round in my head. It's like a constant buzz. It doesn't matter what I try and do to distract myself, it never fucking leaves…"

And, at last, he shattered. Utterly. The sobs that tore through him made him physically shake with their strength. He sobbed and sobbed, the kind of sobs that made it difficult to catch breath. It was not a pretty sight. But somehow it was a catharsis to Anna too, a release of the tension that had been threatening to snap at any moment. She did not want to see him cry, but she needed to. Needed to see that the man she had fallen in love with was still inside, perhaps lost for the moment, but not dead. Not dead. After a few moments, she pushed herself up from her chair, moving so that she hovered over him. It was the most natural thing in the world to gather him up into her arms and pull him tight to her chest, one hand moving to the back of his head to cradle him like a child. He did not try to resist her. She could feel his hot tears soaking her collarbone. She held him tighter. Ghosted her lips against his temple, hoping that in some small way it could bring him a modicum of comfort. His suffering was too much. The healing process needed to start somewhere before something drastic happened. Why couldn't it start now? She couldn't lose him. Not after coming so close to that before.

"I'm here," she whispered into his hair. "I'm here, John. I'm not going anywhere. I promise. It's going to be okay. It is. It _is_."

She rocked him so very gently in her arms, shushing him soothingly while he wept and wept. Things always got worse before they got better, but they _would_ get better. They had to.

Anna would do anything to get him through this. Anything at all. Whether he wanted her or not, she would be right there by his side, offering him a shoulder to lean against. She would help him to see that he was not alone. He had his mother. He had the Crawleys. He had her. No matter what his behaviour had been like in the last few weeks, they would not abandon him.

"I'm right here," she repeated. "I'm not going to leave you. I promise."

The words left unsaid hung in the air between them. He was cherished. He was important.

He was loved.

* * *

 _December_

Christmas came round in a flurry of snow. On the twenty-third, Anna rang Margaret to confirm the times for her daily visit to the hospital. She was shocked when the older woman answered.

"Are you all right?" she asked, alarmed.

"I'm fine," Margaret croaked.

"You don't sound it."

"I just feel a little bit under the weather, that's all. I forgot to have my flu jab, what with everything that's been going on."

"You have to take care of yourself! You'll be no good to John otherwise."

"Honestly, I'll be as right as rain. Are you coming to pick me up?"

"I will be, yes. But I mean it, Margaret. You sound horrible. I'm not sure they'll let you in if you're going to pass something on. You wouldn't want to pass it on to someone really poorly."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"Look, why don't you take it easy this evening? I'll go and see John, and if you feel better tomorrow, we can go up and see him then. Take some Lemsips and wrap up warm. Maybe stay in bed. And we'll take it from there."

"I don't like the thought of not seeing him."

"I'll be there. And he'd understand. He wouldn't want you to put yourself or anyone else at risk for him."

Margaret was pouting, she could tell from her tone of voice. It made her smile. "All right."

"Take care. I'll ring you with every detail when I get back. I promise."

"That's all right, then," Margaret said softly. "I know I can trust you not to break a promise."

* * *

Over the next day, Margaret's condition worsened. Anna went to visit her, and was shocked by her white complexion and her overly bright eyes and her violent shivering.

"What are you doing out of bed!?" she scolded. "You're in no fit state to be up!"

"I'm fine. I'm ready to see Johnny."

"I'm not taking you anywhere. You're going to rest."

"Please, Anna."

"No. It's not a sensible idea at all."

"But it's Christmas tomorrow! He can't have no visitors tomorrow!"

"Who says he won't?"

"Well, you'll be going to Robert and Cora's."

"No, I won't be. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to ask if you can go to Robert and Cora's. _I_ will go to the hospital and spend the day with John."

"You don't want to spend your day at a hospital."

It was as if Margaret had forgotten the reason she had stayed in Downton in the first place. "Margaret, don't worry. There's nowhere else I would rather be. If my job and the hospital allowed it, I'd never leave his side."

Margaret shook her head, softening. "Of course you wouldn't. I know if there is anyone that John would like to see, it's you."

The implication hovered between them. Since that fateful day, neither of them had directly referenced the conversation they had had just before John's injury. It was the elephant in the room, the topic that no one dared broach in case it upset the balance they had.

"It's settled, then," she said quickly. "It's a plan."

They didn't speak another word on the subject.

* * *

When Anna checked in on her, Cora was more than happy to get on board with the proposition, insisting that Margaret stay for the duration so they could look after her properly. Margaret protested against anyone causing a fuss, but Cora refused to listen, saying that she wouldn't leave her alone at Christmas. On Christmas Eve morning, Anna received a phone call to reassure her that Margaret was being fussed over like royalty by Robert, and they didn't need to worry about a thing.

"Thank you so much for this," she said gratefully.

"Don't mention it. John has done so much for us. It's the least we could do."

Anna ended the call. Then, after thinking for a moment, she grabbed her coat and bag, and headed out of the door. She had an idea.

* * *

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear. Anna woke early, and pulled a purring Leo close for a morning cuddle as she stared up at the dark ceiling above her head, running through the day's order. Visitation didn't begin until ten, so there was little point in getting there before then, but she wouldn't have to leave until eight, so she could spend the whole day with John. John would get a Christmas dinner, but she would have to leave him to get something similar, so she intended to buy a sandwich halfway through the day. She would sort herself out with something when she got home.

Too full of nervous energy, she got out of bed and started her day. She cooked herself a full English to keep her going and then hopped in the shower. After she'd dressed, she went back into the living room and sifted through her little pile of presents. Her mum had sent a few bits through the Royal Mail. She set them aside to open later. She'd have to ring her to thank her.

Mary had brought her a few things that she probably wouldn't be able to afford with two months' salary. They were the kind of things so nice it seemed almost dangerous to wear them and risk getting them damaged. Gwen had sent her some interesting American sweets, along with a long note of indignation that went on about how gutted she was that she wouldn't be joining her out there, and that she hoped that this mysterious John Bates was worth it.

He was, Anna thought. They had been given another chance here, and this time she was determined not to let it go to waste.

Ethel's present, inevitably, lowered the tone of the entire day. The lingerie she'd selected might as well have not been there, and there was some kind of complicated looking sex toy hiding beneath it all. _Fun whatever the outcome of your mission!_ was the scribbled missive with it. Bloody hell. Hastily, Anna stuffed it back into its bag, though there was no one around to see. She would have to store that away especially carefully.

Just in case it was needed one day. One way or the other.

When it was finally time to go, she gathered her things together and made her way out into the frosty morning. Christmas Day meant that the roads were relatively clear, and it hardly took any time at all to make her way just beyond the town's perimeters to where the hospital was located. The hospital carpark, thankfully, wasn't too busy just yet, and she found a space.

Some of the staff knew her by sight now, and they gave her tired smiles as she lugged her things down the long corridor towards the Grantham Ward. John's room was the very end one, and with every step she took, her anticipation grew. She might have only seen him yesterday but she ached to set her eyes on him again. She supposed that that was what love was, that unquenchable thirst to be with him for however long she could manage. If only it was something that she could be assured of.

"Merry Christmas!" she sang as she waltzed through the door.

John's eyes widened. "What the hell is all that?"

Anna dumped her bags on the chair next to the bed with a dramatic flounce. "Well I thought that since you're not at home to enjoy Christmas, we might as well bring Christmas to you."

"I don't see the point of it."

"That's because you're just a big Grinch. Come on, look at what I've brought."

Reluctantly, John pushed himself into a better sitting position, eyeing the bags with a dubious expression on his face. Determined not to be put off, Anna brought out her first purchase, a box of red and gold baubles that had been going cheap at the supermarket thanks to the Christmas season drawing to an end.

"You've brought a tree," said John.

"No. There weren't any little ones left."

"So…you've quite literally just bought some baubles."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Here, watch this." She ferreted around in her bag and brought out a roll of sellotape. Under John's dubious gaze, she ripped open the plastic box, tore off some sellotape with her teeth, and hung the first bauble behind the bed. "There. What's wrong with that?"

"It's not exactly how baubles are usually used," he said.

"It's called making the best of things, and that is what we'll do. Now, you tell me where you want me to put the rest of them, and I'll hang them up for you."

After a few moments, John relented, and he directed her around the room, getting her to hang them above the window and from the pictures and from the light fixture. Despite himself, Anna could tell that he was enjoying it. He made her redo one three times because it wasn't hanging to his liking, and he teased her about her small stature as she struggled to reach the higher areas. Well, two could play at that game. She added a few extra unnecessary undulations as she reached up, and caught his eyes sliding to her backside. That quietened him. She took it as a victory.

"Tinsel too," he said as she produced the reams of red and gold with a flourish.

"No Christmas is complete without tinsel," she retorted. "I've even got some for you to wear."

"What?"

She moved closer, twining it round his neck like a scarf. "There."

"I am not wearing this."

"Why not? I think you look cute."

"Cute is not the word that comes to my mind."

"You really are a Grinch. Fine, don't wear it. But you're not getting out of everything."

"That does not sound reassuring."

"You've a right to look apprehensive." Anna delved back into the bag, yanking out folded wool. John's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.

"Please tell me that's not…" he began.

"It most certainly is." She let the material unfold, holding it up for him to approve. You told me your mum makes you wear a Christmas jumper on Christmas Day. I see no reason for you to break with tradition now, even if it's not the most conventional of Christmases."

"Good God, I think that's the most hideous jumper I've ever seen. And that's saying something, considering Mother's penchant for the ugly. It's even worse than that Christmas pudding thing from last year. There is absolutely nothing masculine about a holly jumper."

"There's nothing wrong with getting in touch with your feminine side, Mr. Bates. Come on, get it on."

Grumbling, he took it in his hands. He was wearing a plaid shirt, so he pulled it on over it, and she helped him smooth down his collar, holding her breath to keep her hands steady. This was the most intimately she had ever touched him. His neck was thick and warm beneath her fingers, and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to keep touching him. Now was not the time. She had to tread carefully. She did not want him to fly away in a panic like a little robin.

"You're not on your own, look," she said, opening her coat for him to see. "I bought my own ugly Christmas jumper this year. Now I really do look the part."

"Yes, but you can make anything look good," he said.

The words lingered between them. Anna cleared her throat, looking down. "Yes, well."

John looked uncomfortable too. "I suppose it does qualify as an ugly Christmas jumper."

She had done her best to find the most outrageous of jumpers to get in the spirit, though her options had been limited so close to Christmas. The one she had picked out was chock-a-block with reindeer and snowmen and penguins. It was a bit of an eyesore, but she rather liked it.

"Right," she said. "Let's finish decorating."

"How much more could you possibly have?" he asked in bemusement.

She shook her head promisingly. "Wait and see, Mr. Bates. Wait and see."

* * *

Anna sat with her feet hooked up onto John's bed, leaning back in her chair as she contemplated the grotto they had created together. She'd stuck snowflakes to the windows and cluttered up his bedside cabinet with Christmas ornaments. They had shared chocolates and chatter. John had seemed content despite the circumstances he had found himself in this year, but now his conversation had petered out. At first she'd thought that he was simply drowsy, but now there seemed to be more to it than that. He was brooding.

She poked his leg with her toes. He stirred, blinking. She sat up, folding her legs beneath her on the chair. He turned to look at her.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He smiled, but it was tight around the edges. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"It's just…" She hesitated, then ploughed on, "you seem sad."

"Why should I be sad?"

She hated it when he was deliberately evasive. He was a hopeless liar. His eyes were so expressive. They gave him away every single time. "Don't you think we've gone past the point of lying to one another?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"I'm not sure I'm following, John. Tell me what's wrong."

He leaned across to sift through the cabinet at his bedside. She frowned as he withdrew an envelope.

It clicked. She'd recognise the writing on that anywhere. Her own.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, keeping her voice steady. It would have been returned to Margaret, and there had been a silent understanding that they would never tell John of what had transpired that day when she had gone to see her. She had decided that John would never know how close she had been to leaving.

"Robert came to visit me last night, after you'd gone," said John. "He said he'd seen it on the side at Mother's when he came to pick her up, and assumed that she had forgotten to give it to me. He thought he was doing me a favour."

Anna kept quiet, not allowing her gaze to drop from his. John's eyes burned into her. On the surface, they were calm and collected. Below, they churned with hurt and fear.

"You were going to leave," he said.

"I was." There was no point in denying it or trying to come up with an excuse; the evidence was in stark black and white, in her own handwriting, crinkled in his fist.

"You weren't even going to say goodbye."

"I thought it was better that way."

With great meticulousness, he withdrew the paper from the envelope, shaking it open. She didn't need to reread her words. She could remember each and every one of them. She had had to copy it out twice more before sealing it, because the others had been spattered with her tears.

"America," he mused. "Well, it is a lot warmer there than it is here."

"It sounded like a good opportunity," she said.

"And yet you're still here."

"Because I turned it down."

"For me."

"Of course for you."

The words between them were almost visible, pressing the weight of the world down on them. John was the first to move, idly scrunching the paper up into a ball in his fingers.

"You shouldn't have stayed," he said tonelessly.

"Don't be like that," she said, touching his forearm.

"I mean it. You stayed because you felt guilty."

This was nothing like she had planned their day to be. She had seen them happy, laughing, sharing jokes. She had seen him grumbling, she teasing him, enjoying each other's company. Now, the atmosphere was thickening, suffocating. There was a strange, unpleasant energy between them, like that point on a stifling summer's day just before the sky cracked and all hell broke loose. John's tired, sad face threatened a storm, but she would not let it consume her. He could feel hurt if he wanted to, that was only human nature, but he could not pin all the blame on her.

"I stayed," she said carefully, "because I never would have been able to forgive myself for leaving."

"Because I was injured."

"It's not as simple as that."

"Isn't it?" He shrugged. "If you wanted to go, you should have gone. I don't want you to stay here out of pity for me. Sergeant John Bates, the cripple who has to have help showering and using the bathroom every fucking day because he's incapable of using his own two legs—"

"That's enough," she snapped. "You're lucky, John Bates, do you hear me? You're lucky. With patience and time, you'll walk again. Some people never get that opportunity, and they handle it a lot better than you do. I'm not saying you can't feel bitter or any of it, and it's easy for me to say when I don't know how you feel, but you've been so lucky not to lose that leg."

"All right, I deserved that," he said finally. "But that doesn't change _your_ facts: you stayed because you felt deep down that leaving would make you cruel. I don't resent you for it, but I _do_ resent you for lying to yourself and to me about it. I don't want anyone to stay out of pity, especially at the expense of their own dreams."

Anna shook her head. Anger lapped at her insides like a flame being tended into an inferno that might erupt at any moment. " _You're_ the one who is being deliberately blind, John. You ought to know by now that I have never done anything out of pity for you. I didn't stay here because I pitied you."

"Anna—"

"No," she said fiercely. "You're going to listen to me now. I shan't have you putting words into my mouth and twisting things to suit your own means."

John shut up. Anna took a moment to gather herself. They might as well have this out now. One way or another, they'd needed to have this conversation about where they stood with each other. She'd always known that. She just hadn't been prepared for it on Christmas Day of all days, and certainly not on these terms. Still, she'd make the best of things. She'd always been good at that.

"I never wanted to leave," she said slowly, "but I didn't think I could stay, either. What happened last New Year…it really took the stuffing out of me. I was miserable for weeks. And then I got your letting telling me that you didn't want to ruin our friendship. But there was that implicit condition attached. I knew we'd never speak of it again. I didn't want that. At the same time, I didn't know if I was strong enough to let you go, either." She looked him square in the face. "Maybe you don't know, but sometimes the prospect of loving from afar is more painful than making the break."

John lowered his gaze.

"Being rejected hurt so much, John. I kept telling myself that I was coping with it, that everything was all right. That's why I wrote back to you."

"But it wasn't all right," he said quietly.

There was no point in sugarcoating. "No, it wasn't. I just didn't acknowledge it until later."

"What _did_ make you acknowledge it?"

She was encouraged by the way he was engaging in the conversation, asking the questions to prompt her and not sulking at the inevitable hurt feelings. "Mary got engaged, and even Ethel started seeing someone more seriously. It made me realise that I couldn't carry on living my life pining for you, caught up in the shadows forever."

"You felt as if you needed to escape me and move on." There was no judgement in his tone.

"Yes and no. I needed to do something to move on physically. I thought putting distance between us and concentrating on teaching would help me to stop thinking about you all the time. And I was being selfish, too. I wasn't sure if I could handle seeing my friends build content family lives while I stayed on the sidelines. I didn't resent them, but it did hurt to think I would never have that." And, God, how it had hurt.

"Moving to America would have been quite drastic," he said. He stopped, swallowed hard. "What makes you think that you wouldn't have moved on yourself one day? You're beautiful, and so kind and caring. There would be plenty of men desperate to win your love."

"It's not a prize to win, John. I wouldn't want anyone who thinks they can just butter me up and have me."

"I just meant that you make it all seem so final. But you might meet someone next year who treats you like you should be treated. Someone you _do_ fall in love with and want to start a family with."

"I know myself," she repeated. "I don't get my head turned easily. Even then, I can't truly say that I knew what love was." Not until him. Not until she'd been burned up in those all-consuming flames. Not until she hadn't been able to get him out of her head, like an illness she'd been unable to shake.

"So you decided to move."

"I did. Whether I got the job in America or not."

"And then I got injured." He laughed, a sharp, biting sound. "So you stayed."

"I made that decision, yes. I made that decision because as much as you don't want to hear it, the facts haven't changed. I stayed because I'm in love with you and I would have regretted leaving every minute of every day. I needed to make sure you're all right, and even if this does go nowhere else, it was the only decision I could come to."

"I know I've done a poor job of it, Anna, but I have never wanted to hurt you."

"I know that. I do. Even if you didn't succeed."

"I just…I can't bear the idea of you hurting. And I know it's impossible to avoid."

"You know, if you don't love me, I could understand. "I'm a grown woman. It would hurt, but I could accept it. What's so hard is the way you pull me close and keep feeding my hope."

"What do you mean?"

Anna resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The worst of it was that he seemed so clueless.

Or maybe that was the best of it. If he had knowingly toyed with her, that would have been an entirely different matter. Knowing the way his mind worked, he had probably convinced himself that it had all been a silly mistake, and his constant compliments were his way of trying to show that things could be the same between them.

Even if they could never really be the same.

"The things you wrote. You told me that there could never be anything between us, but then you'd tell me that the thought of me was all that kept you strong."

"I wanted you to know that I still cared about you."

"Yes, but look at it from my perspective. Don't you see how confusing that was? How frustrating?"

"I'm sorry," he offered. "I didn't realise it. I should have done."

"I told your mum that I was going to leave," she said at last.

His eyes found hers. "What?" So Margaret really hadn't said anything to him. Well, they needed to get everything out in the open now. They needed to talk about everything, for better or worse.

"As you've read, I was intending to be gone before you got back to England," she said. "I sent you the letter, but I wasn't sure if it would reach you in Afghanistan before you came home. So I thought it would be easier to tell your mum that I was going than it would be to explain it to your face. I intended for your mum to tell you answer any questions you might have had."

John was quiet. "I see. What did…what did she say?"

"She didn't want me to go. She asked me to stay. I told…I told her that I loved you and it would be too difficult to stay, having you so near and yet never being able to have you." She would not tell him that Margaret had told her that he loved her. That could lead to further embarrassment for them both. But it was the perfect lead-in to the matter she did want to discuss. "Please don't be angry with her, but she told me a little about Vera."

John's face tightened. "She shouldn't have done that. It wasn't her secret to tell."

"I think she felt like she had no choice. I didn't force her or anything, please believe me, but for whatever reason I think she wanted to stop me from leaving, so she told me."

"Even then, you don't know the whole truth. You know my mother's truth."

"But not yours." Not his wife's, either. "Please, John, tell me."

"I can't," he said, agonised.

"I'll listen with an open mind. You don't have anything to fear."

He was silent, as if he was weighing up his options. Then, he spoke. "I'll tell you if you're honest with me in return."

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled. "I've always been honest with you."

"No, you haven't."

"What—?"

He cut her off. "I know there was something you weren't telling me on that day when I…when I told you about what had happened. I can read you like a book, Anna. I saw it in your eyes that day. So if you promise to tell me, I'll tell you."

For a moment, Anna sat frozen. Those words hit her like bullets from the enemy's fire, ploughing right into her beating heart. Cold, repugnant terror kept her frozen in place. She blinked, and she was back there again. Back in her tiny bedroom, with her stepfather's seemingly giant form shadowed in the doorway, the whiskey strong on his breath and the knife hot with sweat in her fist.

"Anna?"

John's voice broke through her paralysis, brought her back to him.

"Please," he said.

With a tight, trembling nod, she said, "All right. But you first. I need—I need to gear myself up for it. I've never…I've never told anyone else before. No one. Not even Mary."

John nodded, but there was real fear and concern in his eyes. She wiped her sweaty palms over her jeans and gestured for him to speak. He fumbled with the bedsheets, averting his gaze.

"I'm sure Mother told you I met Vera when I was young."

"She did."

"I was eighteen. I had just left school and was heading for university. I was staying in London, though I moved out of home. I met Vera at a bar one night, and that was it." He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of talking about another woman when she was in front of him. "I did think I loved her. I'd never felt that way about any woman before. I suppose I was naïve for all of my arrogance, and she capitalised on that. Not that I blame her. I don't want to go into the details, but Vera had had a difficult upbringing too. It brought us closer. I might have married her one day anyway."

"Your mum told me about…" Anna trailed off tentatively.

"About the baby," he said flatly. "There was a girl I went to university with. A Heather Sutton. We were quite close, and she encouraged me to think about going for my Masters. There was nothing sexual there. She was just a friend. But Vera was always jealous of her. It caused tension. When I told her what Heather had said…"His voice trailed off. "Well, she told me she was pregnant. I panicked. I was only twenty-one myself and hadn't even thought about whether I wanted children in the future, never mind then. But nor was there any chance of me shirking my responsibilities. My father had not been a good father, and I did not want any child of mine to feel about me the way I felt about him. And Vera's father would have gone berserk if he'd thought she'd fooled around with me, never mind having a child out of wedlock. So I proposed and we got married quickly so that we could at least fudge it if we had to. I needed a way to make decent money, so I decided to join the army. When I was away training, she told me she'd lost it."

"I'm sorry," Anna said.

John snorted bitterly. "Don't be. The whole thing was a complete fabrication. She told me that when she signed the divorce papers. The final nail in the coffin, I suppose. The cruel reminder that I would have forever wasted over twenty years of my life being miserable and making her miserable."

"She sounds like an utter bitch," Anna said fiercely. "What was the point of it all?"

John shrugged. "Punishment, I suppose."

"For what!?"

"You're getting indignant for no reason. You don't know Vera's side of the story."

"So you keep telling me. I doubt I ever will. But even if I did, it would probably be filled with lies."

"You are a loyal creature, Anna Smith," he said, and he sounded reluctantly admiring.

She tossed her head back defiantly. "It's not always a good thing, but I am. I'm loyal when I feel it's deserving."

"I'm not deserving of it," he said.

"Let me be the judge of that."

He spread his arms wide. "Then judge. Because that's not the worst of it."

"If you're alluding to the fact that you used to drink heavily…"

John gave a short, sharp laugh. "Mother really did cover everything, didn't she? Yes, I used to drink. Vera had always been a heavy drinker, and I suppose I got dragged into the bad habit. Sometimes they felt like the only times we were truly happy together. Other times, the fighting was nasty. Not violent, though. Never violent."

Her trepidation must have shown on her face. She cleared her throat, praying that her voice was calm and unafraid. "What do you mean by nasty, then?" His mother had said that there had been no physical violence, and he had corroborated that; she had to trust him, and had to trust that the kind and gentle man she had always known him to be had existed in some capacity then, too.

"We both resented each other deep down. I think Vera realised she had made a hasty decision when she married me, and the rich, glamorous life she had hoped to lead turned out to be anything but. She was on her own for long periods of time. She did not get along with my mother, and had a volatile relationship with her own family. And I…I resented that she seemed to think our life was beneath her. I saw the other happy couples around me and felt so jealous that they seemed to have perfect lives with their loved ones. And it started to dawn on me that perhaps I had never really loved her in the first place, that I had done all this for her on a whim that couldn't last. I heard rumours that she was keeping company with other men while I was away. She never bothered to deny it. It sounds sick and mad, but I think she enjoyed making me angry and pushing me to the limit. I could control my tongue when I was sober, but I was rarely ever sober. The things I saw…"

"It's okay," Anna said softly when he paused to take a shuddering breath. "I'm here." He was so close. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand in her own, but she didn't quite dare. Not yet. Not when, despite everything, the sting of his rejection was still fresh in her mind.

"The things I've seen," he said, steadier this time, "are things you would never wish another human being to see. If you can imagine it, I've probably seen it. They haunted me at night. I heard the screams in my head whenever I laid down to rest. Some nights I didn't sleep at all. It was like a constant living nightmare. One evening, when I drank too much with the boys—one of them had sneaked alcohol, from what I can recall—it was like a revelation. It made me numb. I felt nothing. And it was like someone had flipped a switch inside my head. I needed to have that numbness again. So I kept drinking on the sly. It was never when I was on direct duty, I swear to you, but it started to become harder and harder to resist. The other guys knew it. They covered for me, even when I didn't deserve it."

"But you stopped," she said. "Something made you stop."

"One of the other lads had a problem worse than mine. And he _had_ started drinking when he was on duty. One day, when he was driving a truck, he ran it off the road. It had explosives on board. They all went up in smoke. He was gone, just like that. It was like having a bucket of iced water thrown over me. It hit me that any day, that could be me. It only takes one moment for everything to change, and mine could have come at any time. So I made the decision to stop. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done. The sweats and the cravings were unbelievable. I thought I was going mad sometimes. I started to smoke more to compensate, which I know wasn't the best choice, but it was all I could do. Somehow, I managed it."

"And then you told Vera you wanted a divorce," she said.

"The next time I came home. I made the promise to myself that I would try harder, that I would do everything in my power to make it work. But we had nothing left in common with each other. She carried on drinking. She carried on needling away. I could hardly bring myself to touch her. By the end of the first week, I'd reached my limit. I told her that I wanted a divorce and moved out the same day, back to Mother's."

He tapered off into silence. Anna didn't bother breaking it. She needed to digest everything. His version of events married up almost entirely with his mother's, but for the few details he had obviously kept to himself. Even then, she had had her suspicions, and those suspicions had been close to the reality which he had not shied away from. He had not tried to embellish his mistakes.

He would probably still insist that she didn't know Vera's side of the story, but she did not need to. She knew now what she'd always known in her heart to be true.

John Bates was still a good man, no matter how he might feel about himself.

And she was still in love with him.

"Will you listen to me for a moment?" she said.

John nodded. She stood. Somehow, standing made her feel more in charge, like she had a better chance of making him see her convictions if he could see her whole body language.

"I've heard what you have to say. And for me, it doesn't make me look at you any differently to how I looked at you before. You say that you were an alcoholic and that you made poor choices, but I don't believe that they should govern what you do for the rest of your life. You've paid the price for that, but you're still punishing yourself. There has to come a point when you start living again. This is the time for you to start. And even if…even if you don't want to be with me, I still want you to take this opportunity with both hands. I'm sure Vera hasn't been plying herself with the same guilt, and to me it sounds like she was every bit the nasty piece of work that your mother said."

"This whole guilt thing…it sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Does it?" Anna tried to keep her tone light, but the frantic beating of her heart seemed to make itself known outside her very chest. John's eyes narrowed in suspicion at her.

"Yes, it does," he said. "We made a deal. I told you everything, Anna."

"And now it's my turn." She took a deep breath, couldn't seem to stop. In and out, in and out, coming faster. The past seemed to loom up right in front of her eyes, like a film reel playing out for her. His face was there in front of her, teeth bared in a leer, bloodshot eyes, unshaven face, that awful breath—

"Anna, it's all right. It's all right."

John was holding his hand out to her, alarm alive in his eyes. It finally seemed to be occurring to him that this was serious. Deadly serious.

"You're safe," he said. "I promise, Anna."

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to steady. Yes, she was safe. He couldn't touch her here. John was here. He'd never let anything happen to her. She crept back to his bedside. John did not retract his hand and, after a moment's more hesitation, she slid hers into his. His hand was huge, eclipsing hers entirely, but he clasped her fingers with the kind of delicacy reserved for crafting something easily breakable. Somehow, it calmed her. She slipped back into her seat and took a few more moments to compose herself.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said earnestly. "I didn't realise just how much it affected you. I should never have insisted in the first place."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not."

"Well, maybe it's time I spoke about it. Maybe it's time I stopped letting it shackle me. I want to tell you, John. I trust you, more than anyone."

"That's high praise and responsibility, especially when my competition is Mary. I hope I'm worthy of it."

"I hope you _want_ to be worthy of it."

"Of course I do!"

"Then that's enough for now," she said simply. "It'll be okay. Just…just let me take my time."

"If it becomes too much for you, stop. I promise, I won't push you."

"Thank you."

Anna fiddled with his fingers for a moment. This was huge. She felt clammy and dirty beneath her garish Christmas jumper, but she had never felt as ready as she did then, either. She had surprised herself with the strength she had shown in the past, and now she was at the final hurdle. If she could clear this too, the past would never be able to hurt her in the same way ever again, for although it would always be there, it could hold her silent no longer.

"I think you know what it is that I didn't say on that day," she said. "I think you know that the girl in my story was really me."

John whimpered, a sound so very unlike him. "I was hoping that I was wrong."

"You're not. Let me tell you the story now."

Silently, he nodded.

I told you that I moved to Downton as a teen," she began. "That's true. But there are some details that I omitted."

"So I gathered."

"I didn't move here with my parents. I moved to Downton to live with my grandma. She took me in." She took a deep breath. "My dad…my dad died in an engineering accident when I was six. He was crushed by a fortruck, but it was found that it was his negligence that had caused it, so Mum wasn't awarded with any compensation. They didn't have any savings or life insurance. My mum was left with me and my sister, who is three years younger than I am. She couldn't hold down a job, and times were hard. We muddled on for a while, but then she met someone else. She got serious with him. I didn't like him. He…he used to say it was because I saw him as replacing my dad, and my mum went along with it."

"But it was more than that," John surmised. "Jesus Christ…"

The look of horror on his face made her rush on, "It's not what you're thinking. Not…not in that way."

"Not in that way? Jesus Christ…"

She wrapped her whole fist around his thumb. How were his hands so big? "He would…" Now the words stuck in her throat, making it hard to breathe. She struggled to keep her focus on his face, to keep the past where it should stay. "It started with…slight touches. He'd…he'd brush against me accidentally, but it didn't feel accidental. I was twelve by then. I didn't really know much about anything at that point, but I knew the way he was looking at me wasn't right."

"What happened?" John whispered. He looked decidedly grey, as if he was likely to be sick at any moment. She squeezed his hand tighter, getting as much comfort from it as she hoped she was giving to him.

"He drank a lot when he wasn't out working. One Sunday, I came home from my friend's house and found him on the sofa, absolutely reeking of whiskey. He didn't say a thing, but there was something in his face that made me think that there was something different about him. Mum never questioned him, or she chose not to see that darkness in him, and he grew bolder. Those touches became more frequent, and I was terrified of saying anything. But then he looked at me in that way, and even though I had absolutely no idea what might come next, I knew that something was about to happen. All through tea he kept looking at me, and when Kate and I were asked to clean up, I slipped a knife into my dressing gown pocket."

"Fuck," said John. His face was ashen. No doubt hers was the same colour. "That fucking disgusting piece of shit. Having to arm yourself with a knife? Fuck."

She gave a humourless laugh at his language. "I don't think any words can sum that bastard up."

"What—what did you do next…?"

"I hid it under my pillow. I refused to sleep." She swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat as she recalled it all; her frightened self laying stiffly in bed, one sweaty hand clenched so tight around the knife's handle that it was agony, staring at the door handle, waiting, waiting… "I knew he'd come. And he did." He did not need to know the details, and she no wish to resurrect them. "Anyway, I pulled the knife on him, and I struck him with the blade. It cut his cheek open, and he almost screamed bloody murder. Mum came running in at once. He wanted to phone the police, but she convinced him not to. And even then, even when there was no denying what a monster he was, she stayed with him. I was shipped off to live with my grandma like I was some kind of inconvenience, and that was that."

She tailed off. Neither spoke.

"I am so, so sorry," John said at last. "I don't know what to say."

"There's nothing you can say," she said. "It was a long time ago. Nothing can change it."

"Even so, that you had to go through that…"

"It screwed me up for a long time. But I got there in the end. I was determined that it shouldn't ruin the rest of my life. I never had a boyfriend at school, and I couldn't be around drunk boys at university. I met Steven during my third year. It took me a while to trust him, but he wasn't like the other boys."

"But you didn't work out," John said guardedly.

"No. We were together for five years, but I found out that he was shagging some young highflyer at his finance company."

"I'm sorry."

She rolled her eyes. "Stop apologising for things you had no influence over. It was hard, but I saw that I was worth more than that. And now…" She shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not even sure that I ever really loved him, either. He was the first boy I had ever felt safe around, and I think I mistook that for love. It was only when I met you that I realised that I had been missing out on what it felt like all these years."

John's gaze was dark and tumultuous. There appeared to be some kind of internal war waging within him. His eyes were conflicted, but he hadn't let go of her hand.

He squeezed tighter.

"Anna—" he started.

"All right, Mr. Bates, it's time for dinner!"

They jumped. Anna hastily pulled her hand away, shuffling in her seat until she was facing the newcomer, internally cursing. Something had been changing between them. She'd felt it in the very atmosphere.

Oblivious, the nurse smiled. "It's time for Christmas dinner. We've set up a little communal area so everyone can eat together."

John shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure—"

"I think it will do you good."

"But I have a guest—"

"She is more than welcome to wait here." The nurse smiled kindly at her. "It'll be about forty-five minutes."

"I'd rather eat here," John said stubbornly.

Anna shook her head. "No, go. I'll go and get a sandwich, and come back in a while."

"But—"

"I think it will do us good," she said. "Give us a little time to think." So much had happened in the last half an hour. She did not want them carried forward on charged emotions. They needed to know exactly what they were doing. No regrets. No backing out when it was too late.

John nodded reluctantly. "All right. If that's what you want."

"It will do us good," she repeated, then stood. Knowing that he would likely be embarrassed if she stayed and saw him struggling to get into the wheelchair, she made her way towards the door. "Enjoy your dinner, John. I'll see you soon."

She left the room behind, making her way back through the maze of corridors towards the cafeteria. She selected a limp looking sandwich and a bag of crisps, then took herself off to a corner. Her heart palpitated wildly. Her hands shook as she raised the bread to her mouth. But, at the same time, she felt strangely light. Free. She had told her story aloud for the first time ever, and somehow, despite everything, it felt amazing. All those years she had held her tongue, afraid of what people would say if they knew. And now John knew. He had reacted with the typical horror she had been expecting, but there had been no disgust in his eyes. No judgement. It hadn't changed the way he saw her, she could tell that. That had to be a good sign.

This time apart would give him time to think and process it all. It was a lot for him to take in, much more than what she had had to take in from his confessions, because she had already known most of his story and had had weeks to process it.

When she got back, she would assess the situation. And then it really was now or never.

* * *

She whiled away some time with a celebrity gossip magazine, checking her watch periodically. The sandwich, somehow soggy and like cardboard at the same time, had done little to settle her stomach. Full of nervous energy, Anna made her way back to John's room.

He was already back, sitting up against the headboard, his right leg slightly raised.

"I was wondering where you'd gone," he said tentatively.

"I was just taking my time. How was dinner?"

"Putrid, if you must know. God, I hate hospital food. And every time they take you out for a cigarette, they look at you as if you're committing one of the world's biggest crimes."

"Well, it must be like forcing a vegetarian to condone meat-eating," she said lightly, resuming her seat. "They care for people's health for a living. It must be frustrating to see people putting that in danger."

"You're not making me feel any better."

"Sorry. Look, you'll be out soon. Then you can go back to smoking to your heart's content."

"Can I?" he mused. "I get the impression that you don't care for it much, either."

She grinned. "I'm not about to try to change you, Mr. Bates. I like you just the way you are." She paused. John's expression didn't change.

 _Now or never._

"I love you just the way you are," she whispered. "I don't know whether I'm crazy to be doing this again, but I can't let the opportunity pass me by. If you tell me that you don't feel the same, then I will accept it. But this time, I need a categorical answer."

"I wouldn't want it to be the end of us," he said, agonised.

Was this his way of rejecting her again? Anna swallowed hard. "John, we've been through this. We can't keep doing it. I want you. If you don't want me, then you're going to have to tell me and do the right thing. Every moment we share like this gives me hope, and if there's none to be had then you need to end it. I won't leave, certainly not yet, but we can't be in each other's pockets in the same way. It's not fair to you, and it's certainly not fair to me. The choice is yours, John. My cards are on the table."

"I still don't think I can be the man you need me to be," he said. "I have made so many mistakes. I am terrified that I'll make them again and hurt you."

"I'm not Vera," she said softly. "You have to stop comparing in your head. You know every awful thing about my past. I will never lie to you or use you. I want for you what Vera never did: I want to nurture you and support you in whatever endeavour you might want to pursue. I want to love you, and I want to care for you when you're hurting. I wanted to make you see that you can't carry that burden of guilt forever. You've made your mistakes, and you've atoned for them. But how is making us both unhappy helping anything?"

"But there are so many other things to consider. Marriage, a family, the age gap. What do we do about those things?"

"The same as we would with any other situation. We'd have a mature discussion. All of that is a long way away. I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm asking you to consider if there can ever be an us."

"I don't know what to say."

This was her chance. It was time to pull her ace card. Digging into one of her bags, she found what she was looking for. She pulled it out and let it dangle between her fingertips.

A sprig of mistletoe.

John's eyes widened. With deliberate movements, she moved her arm so she was dangling the mistletoe above their heads.

"What do you want, John?" she whispered.

His throat worked. His eyes were riveted to those swaying berries.

One final push.

She leaned in closer, closing her eyes so she could focus on the smells and sensations of John around her. It was different to the last time they had been in this position. Then, John has towered above her. She towered above him now, a laughable notion considering how much smaller she usually was than him. He had smelled of aftershave and cigarette smoke, a seductive combination considering how little she enjoyed the habit. Now he smelled of hospital septic, that sickness smell that seemed to cling to everyone unlucky enough to end up there. It still did not deter her. She wanted this man. He had hurt her badly in the past, but that did not change the way she felt. Perhaps it should. But it didn't. There would be plenty of time to smooth things over. He had a lot of work to do to make her feel like she could trust him completely. But today had been a massive step forward in any terms, for she had never opened her heart like that to anyone else before. If he truly wanted it too, then she was determined that they would make a go of it.

"Anna," he murmured now, and she brushed the tip of her nose against his, just about resisting the urge to close the gap between them.

"No more talking, John," she breathed. "Just feel."

He glanced up, at the sprig of mistletoe she still held above their heads, then back into her eyes.

This was it. They were back at that precipice. Before, Anna had had little fear, so sure that she knew his heart. She had no fear now, either. Perhaps that was foolish and overconfident. Perhaps she should have learned her lesson.

He couldn't turn her down again.

He didn't.

Taking her by surprise, John whispered her name one more time and moved his hand to cup her cheek. Anna's breath stuttered from her. He was touching her face for the very first time. His hand was large and warm, eclipsing the whole side that he was holding. His fingertips, slightly roughened from years of labouring overseas, felt incredible there. They caressed her cheek and the shell of her ear, making her tingle all over. And then his mouth was on hers, and her heart swelled and nigh on exploded in her chest. _He was kissing her. John Bates was kissing her_. His mouth was both strong and soft, not demanding but letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't running away any longer. The mistletoe fell from her fingers as she grappled desperately to touch him in return, her palm spanning his wide, thick cheek, his stubble prickling her fingers. She didn't care. It was a corporeal reminder of what they were doing, how he was kissing her.

And, God, did he know how to kiss. His tongue touched and teased her, his hand confident and possessive on her face, his lips moving with purpose. She had never felt quite so overwhelmed and overcome before. This was amazing. She had never been kissed like this before. He tasted exactly how he had before, of recently smoked cigarettes and peppermints, and it was the most intoxicating combination she had ever known. She never wanted it to end.

Good things always had to come to an end.

They broke apart gently, lingeringly; Anna had never felt something quite so delightful as the sensation of John's lips parting from hers with a reluctant suction. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds afterwards, not wanting to let reality back in.

Now, though, the reality did not seem quite as bad as it had in the months before.

When she did open her eyes, she found John staring at her, his dark eyes as soft as warm chocolate. The look made her tingle.

"Well," she said breathlessly, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Bates."

He shook his head, chuckling. "Yes, it is that."

She flushed with happiness, moving closer, not wanting to lose contact with him yet. His large hand reached out across the thin bed linen and touched hers. She took it at once, unable to stop the grin on her face. He had made the first move. John Bates, stoic, controlled, had made the first move. It boded well. It promised that despite his previous behaviour earlier in the year, he was as committed to this as she was.

As if to cement her thoughts, he said hoarsely, "I love you, Anna Smith."

God.

Eyes bursting with unbidden tears, she stammered, "W-What did you say?"

John's eyes did not waver. He kept his eyes firmly on her, letting her see every ounce of his conviction. "I said I—wait, do you have a middle name?"

"What?" she said, caught off-guard as he pulled her out of the moment that had started to make her heart race.

Her confusion did not last long; in the next moment, her heart softened as he said, "I want to do this properly. It seems mad, that I should feel this way and yet not even know your full name."

"It's not the most important thing," she told him. "There are other details that I think are more important. Like knowing your history, for one thing. Besides, I don't know your middle name, either."

He snorted. "I don't have one. I always thought Mother would have named me after my father, but he was a waste of space. So, go on, what's yours?"

"May," she admitted. "I wasn't born in that month, but I was a child of the summer, and I think my parents liked the idea. My dad used to call me his little Anna May, bringing sunshine to his life." The reminder of those golden years always filled her with a powerful sadness. They were days that would never come back.

"Anna May Smith," said John, and the way he rolled her full name round on his lips was the most delicious thing she had ever heard. It sounded so very right on them. "It suits you. Very pretty, but not in an in-your-face kind of way. Just like you. You are so beautiful, both on the inside and the out. I still can't believe I could have done something that attracted you to me, but I am so thankful to you anyway. You've stuck stubbornly by me even when it would have been better for you to leave. If you had, I would never have blamed you for it. But even if I didn't admit it out loud, it would have killed me to see you go. I was a selfish bastard, asking you to be my friend and nothing more, but I've never wanted that. I tried to push it away and tell myself that you couldn't feel for me the way I felt for you, and when you told me that you _did_ , I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I never saw it as a possibility, so I didn't know how to deal with it. And I'm still not sure that I'm doing the right thing by saddling you with someone like me. Life will never be the same again. I'm not a whole man."

"I don't care about having a whole man. All I care about is having you."

He swallowed hard. "Then…then if you want that, you can have it. I love you, Anna. I'm so tired of fighting against it. I never want to be without you again."

Sweeter words had never been spoken. Suddenly, all of the heartache, all of the pain, all of the uncertainty had been worth it for this. The reward. That she had finally got what she wanted felt almost surreal. She wondered what his mother would think, what her friends would think, then dismissed it. None of them mattered. The only person who mattered was John. If he was finally believing, then that was the most important thing.

"That is good to hear," she said. "Because I never want to be without you again, either. I'm not naïve. I know it's not going to be an easy path. I don't care. I'd walk the hardest path of all as long as you were by my side."

His eyes were misty. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. His arms moved around her waist. They stayed like that for a very long time, and for the first time in a very long time, Anna finally felt complete.

* * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking and playing cards, occasionally leaning in to kiss. Those spontaneous shows of affection were Anna's favourite. She couldn't wait until he was out of here, so they could have the chance to build some semblance of normality.

When eight o'clock drew near, she reluctantly stood.

"I'm going to have to go now," she said.

The look of disappointment on his face was the most bolstering thing she had ever seen. "I wish you didn't have to."

"Me too."

"It sounds ridiculous, but this is the best Christmas I've ever had. Thank you so much, Anna."

The double entendre of his words was unmistakable. She squeezed his hand.

"You're welcome," she said. "We'll keep the decorations up for now. They make this place a little bit less depressing."

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he said hopefully.

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," she promised. "And I'll see how your mum is. She's been chomping at the bit for the last couple of days. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep her away much longer."

"That's my mother for you."

She laughed, then leaned down and pressed her lips to his, her stomach swooping. That was allowed now. She could kiss John Bates whenever she pleased. She wasn't naïve, of course. She knew they had a long way to go. John had to learn how to trust her and trust what he felt, and she had to find a way to trust _him_ for the way he had hurt her, but she thought that they had a chance.

It was almost frightening to believe it too much, but she could see a future stretching out in front of her once more, a future that would find them in step with each other. They had plenty of challenges up ahead, but they were ones that Anna relished tackling.

As long as they were together, she had a feeling that they could tackle anything.

* * *

The weeks seemed to ebb and flow at a strange pace. Sometimes days passed like seconds, other times weeks seemed to stretch like lifetimes. Sometimes it felt like John was making progress in leaps and bounds, other times his dark moods over his limitations threatened to suck the life out of everything. Anna didn't waver for a second.

"You help him do better," Doctor Clarkson said to her. "You give him motivation. This is exactly what I was talking about. This is why it's so important for veterans to feel like they have someone there for them, even if they don't always appreciate it. It's hard to imagine what's going through his head right now. When something traumatic happens, behaviour can seem quite contrary. You just have to be patient with him."

Anna knew all about trauma herself, how her own moods had swung round at such a rapid pace that her grandma had barely been able to keep up. They had started him on a course of anti-depressants, and he was scheduled to see a therapist who specialised in PTSD and other related illnesses. John was reluctant to go to those meetings, as private as a person as he was, but Anna gently encouraged him to go.

"You don't have to keep going if you don't like it," she said. "But it might help you to talk things over with someone who can't breathe a word of it to anyone else, who knows people who have gone through things like you have. You don't have to feel ashamed of yourself. There's no shame at all in struggling with what you went through. But if you keep it bottled up, you're only going to hurt yourself more in the end."

Thankfully, John took her advice. He never told her about what was said at those sessions, and Anna never pushed to find out. To see the improvements in his demeanour was more than enough.

He was discharged from hospital not long after the New Year, when the truly hard work had to begin. Building up his strength to walk again would never be easy, but it was something he had to do. Anna knew that he was frustrated to be confined to a wheelchair, feeling helpless and a burden to those around him. He could no longer get upstairs to his bed, so a stair lift was installed so that he could get to the second floor. That was the worst part for him, Anna knew. That was what made him more depressed than anything. His injury made him as helpless as a baby, back to relying on his mother to help him with everything. He needed her to help get him from the wheelchair into the stair lift, and back into the one at the top of the stairs. He needed her to run his baths for him. To his worst humiliation, he needed help to get himself up so he could be dried off properly, and also to go to the toilet.

"There are things a mother should no longer have to do for a grown man," he said to Anna one day in one of his black moods, a haunted look in his eyes that she knew she had to dispel at once. She cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"It's temporary," she said firmly. "Once you've started to regain the strength in your legs, it'll all come back to you. If you don't feel comfortable with your mum doing those things for you, then let me."

"Absolutely not!" he protested.

"And why not? I'm not just here for the good things, you know. I thought that would have been obvious when I turned down the job to stay here with you."

"I won't make you into a nursemaid," he said fiercely. "Helping an old man to the toilet because he can't do it for himself—"

"Stop it," she said firmly. "I don't care about any of it. It's not your fault that this has happened. You _will_ recover. You've just got to take things in stages. You can't rush these things. They'll take as long as they take. I'm not a squeamish person, John. I'm not going to be put off simply because you're in difficulties right now." She took a deep breath. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm not Vera. You can't spend the rest of your life frightened that I'm going to let you down the way that she did. That's not a way for either of us to live. It's not fair to hold me up to what she was. We're different people. You need to start realising that."

His eyes softened. "I do realise that. I do. It's just…sometimes it's hard to trust that I won't be hurt like that again. I know it's not fair to you. I'm sorry."

"None of that. Isn't this how every new relationship is, learning how to be together? Our circumstances are just a bit more extreme, that's all. But we'll get through them. I have faith in that. I love you."

"I love you too," he replied, sounding ashamed. That was no good either. Those feelings wouldn't serve either of them well. So she bent down to kiss him softly, hoping he could feel her love and forgiveness in the movement of her mouth.

He quietened a little after that. He still would not allow her to see him at his most vulnerable—male pride, she supposed—but he did not balk away from her helping him, either. She dutifully closed her eyes to preserve his modesty, but she shouldered his weight and helped him in whatever way he required when she called around to see him after work. It was not the most conventional way to start a relationship, but she found that it worked for them. They had already been through so much drama and chaos, and it helped that they could calm things down and take things one step at a time. There was no rushing into things. Instead, they sat and talked for hours, be it in person or over the phone, and the slow burn helped to reinforce the bond between them. She too needed the time to learn how to trust him again, for he had hurt her so deeply in the past, and she did not want to rush into things too soon. Despite the fact that they had known each other for almost two years now, they had spent so little of that time together. They needed this to get to know each other.

They scheduled his hospital appointments with the physiotherapists so that she could be there with him. Rather than feeling embarrassed, he seemed to take some comfort from her presence by his side. She never let go of his hand, never let her gaze falter as the nurses took him through various exercises to build his strength back up. She tried not to notice the way that he gritted his teeth in pain. Bit by bit, he made progress forward, until the nurses finally deemed that it was time to get him walking on his own two feet again.

The very first time that John took a faltering, colt-like step, Anna wept along with him.

* * *

Things progressed from there. Every day, the nurses worked on John's strength, building him up to putting more and more weight on it for longer periods at a time. The pride that Anna felt as she watched him tackling the length of the bars was unrivalled by anything else she had ever felt before. Her man was a fighter. And that was what he was now. _Hers_. Nothing would ever take him away from her again. Not the army. Not his own self-doubts. She had him now, and she would never stop fighting for what they had.

When he made it the length of the room with only the support of the cane that would be a part of his life for the rest of his life, Anna wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him an enthusiastic kiss of victory.

"You did it," she whispered, keeping on her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear.

" _We_ did it," he corrected her. "I couldn't have done any of this without your support. You've been so good to me. I haven't deserved any of your support or loyalty. You should have gone without looking back when you had the chance. But I won't ever forget the sacrifices you made for me, and I swear I'll do whatever I can to make sure you never regret them."

"I could _never_ regret them," she said fiercely. "I love you, John Bates. I'd do it all again for you. Let's just focus on what we've got to come in the future, and not on what's happened in the past."

John nodded, and she felt tears against her face when she reached up to kiss him again. She did not mention it. It was not something that needed commenting on. She knew she was right. They had so much to celebrate for how far John had come. They had so much to dream of, the future stretching on in front of them with endless possibilities. She knew he was nervous about some things—what he would do now, for one thing, since he could no longer serve in the army—but it did not need to be fretted over just yet. They had all the time in the world now.

Now that John could walk again, he tentatively proposed that they spend some time together away from the house. Anna agreed readily. She had enjoyed being able to spend time strengthening the trust between them, but it would be nice to spend some proper time alone. Margaret was a lovely woman, but Anna had always been aware of her scurrying about in the background, drawing more attention to herself in her determined attempts to make it seem like she was constantly busy and not paying them any attention. It was hardly an ideal situation. Nothing was more embarrassing than the unexpected way that Margaret had often barged in on the middle of a good snogging session on the couch (schoolgirl-ish as it sounded, it really was the only way that Anna could describe them; in the absence of being able to do anything else, she really did feel like his mouth was thoroughly ravishing her own). She wasn't sure who was more horrified whenever that happened; Margaret would promptly turn on her heel with her hands over her eyes telling them that she hadn't seen anything and that they should just let her know when it was safe for her to come back. It was rather a mood killer. To spend some time together outside the house would be bliss.

Mindful of John's still burgeoning strength, they didn't try anything too strenuous. A walk around the little park where they had shared happy memories before, a meal or two out, a trip to the cinema. For the time being, John was unable to drive or walk the distance between his house and Anna's, so she drove him home and said goodbye to him on the doorstep.

"This isn't the way it's supposed to be," he lamented mournfully. "I'm the gentleman. I'm supposed to see you safely home, not the other way around."

"I'm made of stern stuff," she replied. "I can handle a car journey back to my flat alone. Now be quiet and come here."

She succeeded in pulling him down to her level and silencing him with her mouth for a few moments, but not for long. When they parted, John gave another self-reproachful sigh.

"That's something else I should do," he said. "Kiss you goodnight when I've returned you safely to the threshold."

"And hope that I invite you inside," she teased, running her fingers through his hair. "Which I would do, by the way."

"Don't torment me," he groaned.

"Soon," she said feverishly. "We'll make the time soon. You can stay over one weekend. We'd have nowhere else to be. We can have one long weekend of shagging."

He whimpered, the most endearing and arousing sound she had ever heard; given his huge bulk, it did not seem the kind of sound he would make.

"The weekend," he agreed.

"It'll give us something very nice to look forward to, Mr. Bates," she said, keeping her tone silky and sensual.

Behind them, the door opened. They turned at once to find Margaret standing there.

"It's getting chilly outside," she said. "Why don't you come in for a tea, Anna?"

She glanced at John, who shrugged. "All right. Thank you, Margaret."

The old woman shepherded them like sheep into the front room, announcing that she would be back shortly. She returned with two steaming mugs and a tin of homemade shortbread. Anna fished one out gratefully. Her sweet tooth would be her downfall.

"You know," Margaret said without preamble, "I think Cora is going to take me to the cinema next weekend."

John narrowed his eyes at her. "Where has that come from?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's rather out of the blue, you have to admit."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think you have a very good idea what I'm talking about. Were you eavesdropping!?"

"Eavesdropping on what?" Margaret said innocently. Anna's face started to burn. Oh, good God. Anything but that. She had talked about a long weekend of shagging…God, she would never be able to look her in the face ever again. The floor might as well swallow her up. "I was merely making conversation."

"Well, there's no need to."

"All right, I'm simply saying. The house will be empty next weekend."

The implication couldn't have been clearer. Scarlet, Anna downed the rest of her tea, mumbled a hasty goodbye, and hurried out of the door. There was no _way_ she'd be setting foot in the Bates residence for a while. She needed the embarrassment to wear off first.

Margaret had to be some kind of witch. The weekend found her exactly where she'd vowed she wouldn't be, with the older woman heading out for her evening with Cora. Still, now she was here, she was determined to enjoy it. It _would_ be nice to have the house to themselves. There had been a crackling anticipation between them all day, the tantalising promise of what the evening could hold for them. Their hands had brushed more times than was necessary, and Anna had caught John gazing at her at various times, a warm desire in his gaze that made her own blood simmer. There was no question about it. She wanted this man. She'd wanted him for so long. It was finally time for them to take the next step. After tonight, there would be no more lingering pain. Just love.

Anna couldn't wait to put it all in the past and move on towards the future.

"Have a lovely evening, you two." Margaret was busy gathering up her handbag. She looked very smart, in her best dress. It looked more suited to a theatre than the rundown cinema that Downton had to offer, but her obvious excitement was endearing.

"I'm sure we will," Anna said with a smile. "Enjoy your film."

"It's been years since I saw it. To think of actually seeing it on one of those really big screens! I can still hardly believe it. And Cora says that there are all sorts of new-fangled things you can get in the cinema these days. It will be quite the experience."

Her innocence really was cute.

"I'll walk you to the door," said John. Mother and son made their way into the hall. Anna leaned her head back against the sofa, listening to their conversation through the open door.

"See you later," she heard John say.

"I'll stay out until ten o'clock. Do you think ten is late enough? Should I make it eleven? Will that give you enough time?"

"Mother!" John groaned, and Anna felt her cheeks burning. Bloody hell.

"What?" she said defensively. "I'm a good Catholic woman. I go to church and I say my prayers and I don't want to walk in on my son committing carnal sins of the flesh with his girlfriend. No mother should have to see those things."

"Who says that anything like that is going to be happening? Good God."

"Don't play that card with me, boy. I'm not naïve. I know very well what happens between men and women when they think they've got the house to themselves, especially men and women who have not yet had the opportunity to get to know each other in that way. That's why I want to give you enough time for you to be back downstairs on that sofa acting the innocent picture when I get back home."

Anna was suddenly very, very glad that she hadn't followed the two of them out into the hall. How would she ever look Margaret in the eye again after this, implying what she was implying?

"For the love of God, please go before you make us both die of embarrassment. Cora is waiting for you."

"I know, I know. I'm going. Have you got everything you need?"

" _Mother!"_ he sputtered and, out of sight, Anna buried her face in her hands. Dear God.

"What? I have to make sure of these things, you know. The world may have changed a lot in the long years that I've been alive, but I have to confess, I'm still not sure about the idea of having a grandchild out of wedlock. And people move so fast these days. They've met one day and are having a baby together the next. Anna is so good for you, and I don't want you rushing into things at the drop of a hat."

"We are not having this conversation," John said firmly.

"Well, I'm afraid that until you give me some reassurance, I'm not going anywhere."

There was a pause. Anna could well imagine the stubborn expressions on both of their faces. Likely John was bright red, if her own burning cheeks were anything to go by.

There was no question of who would break first. At last, she heard John give a long, frustrated growl.

"Not that we need to be, but we're covered," he said, so fast it was difficult to catch his words. "Now please, go. And we are never speaking of this again. Do not even try to enquire about our evening when you come back."

"That's good enough for me. Just take care of her, son. Take it from me, a woman needs more than just a man's tools—"

"Jesus, Mother," he said. "There are some things that a child really, really does never want to know about his parents' sex life. We all like to think that we came via the stork, no matter what science tells us. Now go. If you love me at all, _go_."

Anna heard Margaret harrumph, but at last the door closed behind her. John returned moments later, a look of glassy horror in his eyes, as if he had witnessed something that no one should ever have to witness. Considering all he had seen in his years in the army, that was quite a feat.

"I think I've been put off the thought of sex for the rest of my life," he said. "All I'm ever going to remember is my mother trying to give me advice."

Anna giggled, ducking her head. "I can't say I blame you."

John lowered himself back to the seat beside her with a huff, stretching out his right leg. She scooted closer so she could press herself to his side, and he draped his arm around her, his hand coming to a rest on her hip.

"How about something to eat?" he murmured. "You must be starving."

"I haven't eaten since half-past twelve," she admitted. "Let's not bother cooking tonight. Takeaway?"

"Sounds perfect to me," he agreed. "I'd much rather sit here holding you like this."

"Charmer," she said. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to move to make the phone call."

He groaned. "You are a tough task master, Miss Smith. Fine. One kiss to take with me?"

Smiling, she leaned up and pressed her mouth softly to his. He could have as many kisses as he wanted.

After they had eaten, John leaned back in his seat with a contented sigh. Anna moved closer, resting her head against his chest once more.

"This is nice," she murmured.

"It is. It's been a very long time since I last cuddled up with a girl on the sofa."

"So I should hope as well. I have no intention of being one in a long line of admirers."

"You'd be hard pressed to find any of those. Trust me, you are the only woman I have eyes for. And while I worry for your eyesight, I'm glad there's something you see in me."

"There's plenty that I see in you, Mr. Bates."

She craned her head up, and he lowered hers, and their mouths met. For long moments, they stayed exactly like that, exploring each other's mouths with aching care. His tongue probed softly over her own, and she pushed closer, matching him all the way. His palm cradled her cheek, changing the angle slightly so he had even better access to her. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Let's take this upstairs," she murmured, drawing away enough to say the words, her lips still brushing his.

"I don't know if we should," he muttered between kisses. "It would serve Mother right if we stayed here all night."

"Is there any point to that? Whether we do or we don't, she's only going to think we did."

"Yes, but we'll know the truth."

"I'm not sure how much of a consolation that will be." She hitched herself closer, almost crawling up into his lap. His eyes followed her. "I've never been one to cut off my nose to spite my face."

"Nothing could spite your face," he said, closing the gap between them again. She pulled back, grinning.

"Now, now, Mr. Bates," she purred. "There'll be none of that kind of talk if you're not going to follow through."

His hands slid round her back, sneaking beneath the hem of her t-shirt. "I'll have you know that I'm very good at the follow up, Miss Smith."

"I'll be the judge of that," she said, and this time allowed him to kiss her.

Things moved quickly from there. Kisses escalated and hands began to wander more boldly, discovering untouched territory for the very first time. Breathing deepened as the urgency grew. Anna felt it low, the raw, pulsing need.

"Upstairs," she pleaded.

"What's wrong with here?" he said.

"John, do you really want to do anything where your mother has been sitting?"

"Point," he conceded. "My room is blissfully Mother free."

They rose together. Not wanting to lose any of the mood that had grown and settled between them, Anna slid her hand into his, keeping the contact between them alive.

Navigating the stairs was difficult. As soon as they reached the bottom of them, John pulled her back into his arms. Between kisses, they struggled up step by step, moving slowly to accommodate John's sore knee. None of that mattered to Anna. The extra time simply gave her more time to enjoy him, relish kissing him, acclimatise to the way his large hands felt running up and down her body. And how glorious they did feel, sending sparks shooting down her every nerve.

And, finally, they were at his bedroom door.

The moment was momentous. Overwhelming. Here she was, standing in the threshold like she was standing on the precipice, finally ready to fall into whatever waited her below. So ready.

The mood shifted again as John limped into the room to light the lamp, turning towards her. He seemed shy to have her in this space. His space.

"Come here," he whispered.

She went to him gladly, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her ear to his chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart beneath her. It was soothing. Reassuring. This was where she belonged.

Gradually, his hand moved up to cradle the back of her head, manoeuvring her so he could look into her face. His eyes were the deepest hazel, shimmering with emotion. It took her breath away. After all the fighting and heartbreak, he felt the same way. When he looked at her like that, she couldn't doubt it. Slowly, she reached up to kiss him again. He pressed closer, his tongue meeting and sliding over hers.

Clothes rustled. Buttons were opened, shirts pushed from shoulders. Anna's breath hitched as she took in the wide expanse of his chest for the very first time. Thick dark hair grew wild across his chest and down his stomach. Her breath hitched in her throat. God, he was _beautiful_.

She told him so. He only laughed and nuzzled his nose against her, capturing her mouth again. He didn't believe her. She would have to make him do so.

"Nothing compares to you," he said, running his eyes appreciatively over her upper half. Goosebumps prickled her flesh where he touched her. She was melting under him.

The stasis didn't last for long. After a few more kisses, their hands began to drift again, further south this time. Anna's pulse throbbed as her fingers touched the waistband of his jeans, then slid lower to fumble with his belt. This was it. She was undressing him. In a few moments, she would have him naked. The bulge at the front of them promised wonderful times to come.

His hands stilled hers.

"My…my knee," he whispered.

She looked up into his eyes and recognised the look in them immediately. Fear. She had helped him when he'd been at his weakest and she has accompanied him to every single one of his appointments, both check-ups and physiotherapist sessions, but she had not yet seen the full extent of the damage that his leg had taken.

"It's okay," she reassured him. "I don't care about any of that kind of stuff."

He didn't let go. "I don't want to frighten you. It's…it's ugly. The scarring is permanent. It's never going to get any better than this."

"Do you not trust me?"

John frowned. "Of course I do."

Anna carefully extricated her hands from under his, sliding down his zipper. The sound was so loud in the quiet.

"Then trust me," she said simply.

He swallowed, then nodded tightly. He stood by while she pulled his jeans down, moving only when he needed to step out of them.

He was right: his right leg _did_ look a mess. A land of chaotic destruction, enflamed skin and puffed up tendons and scars that criss-crossed in a thousand different ways. It made not one bit of difference to her. She meant what she'd said. To her, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Determined not to let him think that it frightened her, she stepped back towards him, tipping him a cheeky grin.

"Unfasten my bra," she whispered.

Under any other circumstances, she might have felt awkward. Not so with John. The glint of utter worship in his eyes made her feel all-powerful.

The pace increased again. Between more kisses, the last layers separating them were finally removed, and they fell onto the bed together, laughing and sighing and touching each other wherever they could. The agonisingly sweet ache in her lower half began to grow further, if that was even possible, until it was all she could do not to rub herself shamelessly against him, begging him to touch her. Right now, he seemed enamoured with her breasts, and she writhed and whimpered as he suckled at one and then the other, seeming to throb in the rhythm of his mouth. His erection was hot and urgent against her. She reached between them and touched it. He shivered, his sound low and so intoxicatingly unlike him.

"I-I don't know if I can take charge," he said thickly. "My knee—"

Anna didn't want his knee to factor into this any more tonight. Tonight was about the two of them, and how far they had come. How much they had to look forward to.

She drew him into another series of long, slow kisses, manoeuvring so that he was on his back and she was hovering above him. Her hair kept falling down into his face and she huffed in frustration when she pushed it back, but it simply wouldn't stay put. John chuckled, tugging softly on the ends of it. It eased her.

"I think we can come to a mutually agreeable compromise," she whispered. "Here, let me show you what I had in mind…"

* * *

The sheets were twisted and gnarled somewhere at the bottom of the bed, but Anna was too warm and sated to care. She lay slumped like a ragdoll over John's broad, strong form, one of his arms draped just above her backside, holding her in place against him. Electric chills ran through her body every time their skins slid against each other. She had the pleasing soreness of someone who had finally exercised muscles that had been unused for a very long time.

"Are you all right?" John murmured. She shifted just enough so that she could see him. He peered up at her with sleepy question in his eyes. It had been quite a time since he had last spoken. She suspected that he was a little bit shy about how loud he had been—something that she had been very surprised about, since he was such a quiet man by nature, but something she found arousing all the same. It was a good thing that his mum had been out, otherwise it would have proven mortifying for all.

"I am more than all right," she told him. "That was amazing."

He looked boyishly proud of himself, and she couldn't stop herself from smiling as she leaned in to kiss him again.

"I'm glad I matched your expectations," he said when they parted.

"Oh, believe me, Mr. Bates, you surpassed them."

"Why, were your expectations very low?"

She burst into peals of laughter at that, shaking her head at his typical self-deprecation. "Do you have an inability to enjoy a compliment for what it is?"

"I'm afraid so. I've always been a bit of a cynical bastard, I'm afraid. And I'm far too old to change."

She poked him in the ribs. "You are not old."

"I'm feeling every one of my years after those antics," he said. "I don't think even the army put me through my paces quite like that."

She snorted, shaking her head. But she loved it, loved that they could be like this together. Loved that they could be so comfortable together after their first time. She did not feel awkward or shy now that the initial passion had faded away. The way that John was keeping her pressed to him was very comforting indeed. Right. She'd never felt like this before. Steve had never made her feel this safe and happy. She never wanted this feeling to end.

Now, she finally had the faith that it wouldn't.

John idled with strands of her hair between his large fingers, and she turned her head slightly so she could inhale the slightly salty scent of his sweat, smiling in satisfaction. It was the smell of someone who had been thoroughly loved and loving in return. She could smell her perfume on him too, and it scent heady waves of joy through her body. She could hardly believe that they had finally reached this point. It had been such a long time coming.

"You're smiling," John murmured low in her ear, his warm breath making her skin prickle with goosebumps. "What are you thinking about?"

She pushed herself up slightly so she could look down into his face, feathering her fingertips over the creases by his eyes as he quirked his lips at her.

"Nothing, really," she said, then lowered her voice mischievously. "I was just thinking about something Ethel said on the day we first met."

John raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "That makes me rather apprehensive. I am getting to know too well the kinds of things that Ethel is fond of saying."

"You'll have to carry on getting used to her, I'm afraid. She's never going to change."

"I think I can handle that. So, go on, what did she say?"

She stifled a giggle, moving to brush her mouth against his. "Ethel said that you were great in bed."

John raised his eyebrows. "I have to confess, I can't recall ever sleeping with Ethel before."

"So I should jolly well hope, you idiot. She was probably passing on her own experience. And apparently that is older men have more experience, so they're better lovers."

"I thought you said I wasn't old?"

"You're not. Stop pouting. If you'd stop taking everything as a backhand, you'll see that I'm trying to compliment you on your prowess. You've certainly put your experience to good use." She paused, dithering for a moment, before saying softly, "John, do you mind if I ask you something personal?"

He shifted slightly. "No, of course not. You can ask me anything. I don't have anything to hide from you. Not anymore."

Anna took a deep breath. She shuffled away from him so she could lie beside him on the mattress, not quite able to meet his eye. It wasn't that she wanted to know. It was more like a _need_ to know, to clear the air between them once and for all. No more secrets. Being intimately open with each other.

"Have…have there been many women?" she said.

John's eyes widened. "Where did that come from?"

"I'm not sure, really. I suppose I was just curious. You don't have to answer." On second thoughts, maybe she didn't need to know. He'd been married, but that didn't mean he hadn't had women before that, or indeed women during that period. Margaret had told him that Vera had been unfaithful, and just because Margaret wanted to see the best in her son, it didn't mean that he had remained faithful too.

But it was too late to take it back now. John shifted, moving his hand to rub at his chin. "I don't mind answering. Though I'm not sure if I should be proud or embarrassed. The honest truth is, you're actually only the third woman I've ever slept with."

Anna lowered herself onto her back, staring up at the ceiling so she could avoid looking at him instead. "Was the other woman after Vera?"

"Before. I'm not even sure you could call her a girlfriend. It was just as I was leaving school. We'd seen each other a few times, but I wasn't really serious about her. It sort of just happened. We met a couple of times but then I met Vera, and that was that."

"You loved her."

"I suppose I did. I grow less and less sure of that fact every day. I certainly loved the _idea_ of her, and I found her exciting. Vera was never afraid to voice her opinions or give as good as she got, and I enjoyed that. She made it plain that she was interested, but she let me do all the chasing. It kept me interested. I don't know if we'd have ever have lasted the whole distance even under different circumstances, but…" He shrugged, seemed reluctant to bring that part of the past into the bed with them.

"But she told you she was pregnant."

"Yes." He shook his head. "Anyway, there you have it. I'm not as experienced as your friend Ethel seems to think I am. In fact, you've probably had sex more times than I have."

"I don't know about that."

"I'm serious. I was away for months at a time."

"Even so, more sex doesn't necessarily mean more experience. Steve liked things vanilla."

"Vanilla. I see. So Steve really was your only lover before me?"

She nodded, pushing closer. "It took me a long time to work up the courage to let things go further. And it was nice, if not very exciting. I think I was so relieved to be living what I considered a normal life that I wasn't bothered by the rest of it." She blushed, fidgeting. "You know. The release."

"You didn't always…you know?"

She giggled. It seemed absurd, that he was so shy to talk about it when he'd been more than enthusiastic doing it ten minutes earlier. Not that she was any more sure about it. She'd never discussed her sexual history with another man before. "Sometimes. Not always. It didn't really matter to me at the time."

"It should matter," said John. He slid his hand down her side, until it rested on her stomach. "I promise, Anna, I will never take more than I give."

"I never thought you would for a minute," she said.

"I want to give you everything," he said earnestly. He started peppering kisses against her jaw, and she tilted her head, giving him more access to her neck. He continued to kiss her, rolling onto his back and tugging her back over him, moving lower and lower down her body. Her breath hitched as he puckered a nipple, then the curve of her breast, moving ever lower as he pulled her further up his body.

Lower.

"There are a million ways to make love to you," he murmured. "I'm going to show you every single one."

His mouth closed over her then, and she saw stars in the darkness behind her lids, arching into his touch and calling out for him as her fingers moved instinctively to wrap around his headboard. She was right, she thought dimly: less sex did not mean less experience. He was opening her up to a whole world she had never known before.

She never wanted him to stop.

* * *

John's chuckle was coarse and sexy as she lowered herself, trembling, back down onto his chest. Her thighs burned with the delicious throb of exertion, and she tingled all over. Two times. She'd officially had sex with John Bates, the man she was in love with, twice. There was something incredibly powerful about that. Something gratifying and lovely, too.

He seemed to like resting his hand on her arse. She would never have pegged him as a bum guy, but she rather liked it too, his hand warm and heavy against her. Comforting, somehow.

"Was that okay?" he murmured.

She shot him a cheeky grin. "You don't have to ask me that every time we have sex, you know."

"I just want to make sure that I'm making you happy."

"Believe me, Mr. Bates," she murmured, leaning down to kiss him, "I couldn't fake it that effectively."

"Well, that's good to know." He shifted a little with a groan, easing her down until she was lying nose to nose with him, gazing once more into those deep hazel eyes, heavy with drowsiness. She was feeling rather lethargic, too. Satisfaction could do that to a person. A quick nap sounded like heaven. Snuggling closer, she draped her arm around his waist and closed her eyes.

There was a sound down in the hall. The sound of the door being unlocked. They both shot up into sitting positions at once, exchanging wide-eyed, panicked glances.

"Is that…?" Anna began.

" _Shit!"_ John hissed, scrambling out of bed as quickly as his knee would allow. "Yes, it bloody well is!"

Margaret was back. Stricken, Anna almost fell out of bed in her haste to get out of the covers, snatching at whatever pieces of clothing she could find. It was half past ten, according to the clock. Just where had that time flown to? Had they really been lost in each other for so long that they hadn't even realised the alarming speed it was passing them by in? Bloody hell, it was a good job that they hadn't still been in the throes of passion…if they'd been just two minutes longer…it did not bear thinking about…

"Johnny? Anna?"

Margaret's voice was more muffled. Likely she was poking her head into the sitting room. She'd find them gone, and would know exactly where they were. It had been mildly amusing in its own embarrassing way earlier, but now that it was a reality, it had definitely lost its humour.

Anna had no idea where her knickers had landed in their passion, so she had to settle for pulling on her skirt and praying that Margaret wouldn't notice. She fastened her bra—twisted, from the way she could feel it digging into her back—and yanked her top over her head. John wasn't faring much better, struggling with his buttons in his haste. Together, they almost fell out of the bedroom.

"We're here, Mother!" John hollered down the stairs. His voice sounded unnaturally high.

Margaret appeared at the bottom of the stairs, arching a weary eyebrow. "Yes, I thought as much."

"I was showing Anna something," he stammered.

"Again: I thought as much."

Heat flared through Anna's cheeks at the look on the old woman's face, and it took every ounce of bravery not to lower her gaze. Or, even more appealing, cower in the bedroom.

"Not that!" John yelped. "Can you please stop with the unnecessary innuendos? We were just going to choose a film, if you must know."

"If you say so, son," said Margaret. "By the way, your shirt buttons are done up all wrong. Honestly, you must take more care getting dressed. You look like nobody owns you."

Anna shot him a horrified glance. Margaret was speaking the truth. John's shirt looked skewered and dishevelled, nothing like the neat state it had been in when she had left the house. They'd been busted. They all would have known the truth of the evening, of course, but there was knowing and there was _knowing_. Not one word would have ever have been spoken about this if not for their unfortunate time keeping.

To Margaret's credit, she slipped smoothly back into the role of the doting mother. "Now, I'm just going to head on through to put the kettle on. None of those fancy fizzy drinks appealed to me. No wonder the kids these days are always hyped up on too much sugar."

"You can get hot drinks at the cinema now," said John, as if turning his back while he spoke would distract from the fact that he was re-buttoning his shirt into a more acceptable manner.

"And why would I want to try one of those? Horrid dishwater tea, that's what that would be. I like my tea mashed properly, thank you very much…"

Anna sheepishly took the plunge and descended the stairs to the older woman's side, waiting for John at the bottom.

"I'd better get going," she said when he joined her.

"What?" For a woman whose hearing was failing, Margaret certainly had her senses honed for situations that weren't to her liking.

"It's getting late," said Anna.

"Don't feel you have to leave. I know Johnny would absolutely love it if you stayed over."

"Mother!" said John. "I don't need you to speak for me, thank you very much."

"Oh, don't you pretend that it isn't true. A snuggle is just the ticket for new lovers."

" _Mother!"_

Anna's cheeks flamed yet again; she needed to be outside in the fresh air just for a bit of relief.

"I have Leo at home," she said. "I have to get back to him. And I have nothing here anyway."

"Why don't you go home, pick up a few things, and bring that dear cat of yours with you? He gets along splendidly with Tiger, so there are no issues there. John can go with you so you're not going on your own at this late hour, and he can wait in the car while you get yourself sorted."

Anna sneaked a look at him, trying to gauge his face. She did not want to stay if it would make him uncomfortable.

"I mean, it would be all right with me," he said tentatively. "But only if you're okay with it. Don't let Mother pressure you. If you'd rather stay at home, I understand."

"No, I'll stay," she said. "If you're really all right with it."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" cried Margaret. "You both want to be together tonight, so let's stop pussyfooting around the issue. Anna, go home and get your things. John, go with her."

"You needn't be so forceful," John grumbled, even as he reached for his coat. "It's not for you to poke your nose into my affairs."

"That's what mothers are for, Johnny," she said breezily. "One day your Anna will understand."

They both flushed again at that, and by mutual agreement, scurried out of the house.

* * *

When they were laying back in bed together, nose to nose in the darkness, John admitted in a whisper, "I'm so glad you did decide to stay."

"So am I," she said, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. "So very, very glad."

They shared a brief kiss, John's hand sliding down to settle on her hip.

"It's a pity Mother is just next door," he lamented when he pulled away. "I suspect she's left her hearing aid in tonight especially, waiting for the slightest sign that we're not playing by her rules. She'd come down on us like the plague."

"John, really!" she scolded with a giggle. "I've had enough embarrassments for one evening without having to imagine any more, thank you very much."

"Maybe we can wait until the wee hours when we know she'll be fast asleep…"

"Out of the question. The bed springs squeak. She'll know in an instant."

"Oh, charming. Apparently my efforts were so good that you had time to notice the bed springs?"

"You would twist my words against me!"

"I've got to keep realistic, haven't I?" he said, and she squealed when he dug his fingers into her sides.

"Don't you dare!" she gasped. "I'm ticklish!"

"Ticklish, eh?" His eyes practically lit up at that, like a little boy's. "It seems that there's a lot still left to learn about you, Miss Smith."

"If you don't stop tickling me this instant, I may not give you the chance to learn anything else at all."

"Oh, the ultimatum," he murmured. "I have such tough decisions to make…"

His fingers braced her sides, and she squealed again, trying to wriggle away from his touch.

There was a banging on the wall.

"That bed is for sleepin' in, Johnny!" came Margaret's muffled voice, and Anna laughed harder, falling against him as he groaned in mortification.

"We need to get away from here next time," he whispered. "Or she'll be putting the kibosh on our sex life for the rest of time."

"Stay at mine tomorrow," she said, propping herself up on his chest. "We'll manage everything between us. And then we'll have all night to do whatever we want…"

He shivered as she ran her fingernail down his side. "Don't, Anna. I need to keep my dignity intact. You'd be a very cruel woman if got me all worked up."

"Cruel is one thing I'm not, darling," she said, ceasing. "There are a few logistics that we need to work out, but I think we'll be okay."

"What logistics are those?"

"Well, you know I already share my bed with another man. I'm not sure how kindly he'll take to you insinuating yourself into my life."

"And here was me, thinking I was the only man in your life."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be obtuse. You know very well I'm talking about Leo."

"Leo likes me."

"Leo has never had another man stopping over at my place before. I don't think he'll take too kindly to being booted out of the room and replaced as chief bed warmer."

"Well, I have no objections to still sharing the bed. Just, you know, after we've had sex. I don't fancy him prowling around when we're together like that. I don't think I could perform."

She snorted, moving in to kiss him fiercely. "I do love you, you know. So much. You're an idiot, but you're _my_ idiot."

His eyes were shining as he looked at her, the look of pure adoration on his face making her heart crack open with how beautiful it was. "I love you too, Anna. Thank you for…for this evening. It meant a lot to me."

She looked down on him, bare-chested and scarred, her very own hero.

"You can't know how much tonight has meant to me," she said softly. "I wanted you for so long, my darling. I'm so glad we're here."

They shared one more kiss before settling down, John curled up behind her like a big, protective bear. Anna had never felt safer than at that moment, wrapped in his arms.

They fell asleep curled up together, at peace with the world, at peace with each other.

So very, very content.

* * *

The weeks moved into months, moved into years. John's army career moved into one at the local newspaper. Robert, friends with the magnate who ran it, put in a good word and John found himself editing the stories that were submitted. He seemed content with the change. It was giving him the chance to stretch the muscles he had been forced to stop using many years before, and the change of pace to a more peaceful existence seemed to sit well with him. Before everything had exploded out of her control, Anna had thought that she would be content to be an army wife, loving her man every day from afar, content to wait for his leave so that she could spend their brief spells in his arms. The more time wore on, the more she began to truly appreciate what it was to have what most considered a normal life together. Experiencing the little things, like waking up beside him every day, being surprised with flowers and little gifts and dinner arrangements, orbiting around each other as they made meals. Kissing and touching him whenever she wanted, picking up the phone and knowing that he was only across town, able to come to her at a moment's notice if she needed him. If he hadn't been injured, they would never have had any of that, and while Anna refused to be glad that John had been hurt in such a fashion, she was nevertheless grateful.

Those dates turned into more. Little weekend breaks, holidays in other climes while Margaret looked after the cats. They explored places of culture, John surprising Anna by showing her that he was an expert in history as well as in English, and Anna also convinced him to buy a new summer wardrobe and jet off to Tenerife for a relaxing two weeks of sun, sand, and sex.

With his invalidity money, John mortgaged himself another house, leaving Margaret in the one that he'd started paying for when they'd moved to Downton. The following Christmas, he asked Anna to move in with him. The place was too big for just one person, and Anna's flat still had its multitude of problems that her landlord was too lazy to fix. It made sense that she shouldn't continue to waste her money on rent. Anna flung her arms around his neck and agreed. In January, her name had been added to the house deeds. There was nothing quite so romantic as seeing her name there beside his. It reinforced just how far they had come, how he finally had faith that they would always be together.

In November, on a weekend trip to see the Northern Lights, he proposed to her. It was brass monkeys outside, and rather amusing to see John kitted out in a padded coat, with a scarf cinched tight around his neck, a woolly hat on his head, and thick gloves over his hands, but the backdrop, with the snow and the aurora overhead was breathtaking. She kissed him first and answered him second, but there could be no doubt as to what her reply would be.

She became Mrs. Bates on a mild April Friday afternoon mere months later, after they decided that they didn't want the fuss of a big wedding. Anna had a free period after lunch, so she sneaked away at dinner to marry the love of her life. She left the school Miss Smith. She returned Mrs. Bates, though at that point no one else other than her close friends knew. It didn't matter to her. Having a small ceremony surrounded by their closest friends and family meant more than inviting hundreds of people neither of them really knew.

Unbeknownst to either of them, they _were_ joined by someone they didn't know: mere days into his life, their son was there with them.

Little John Daniel Bates—Jack—was born on New Year's Eve, ten days early, the greatest culmination of the bright future they had in front of them. John actually cried holding him in his arms for the first time, and it took Anna's breath away to see her bulky husband cradling that tiny baby in his arms. Margaret cried too, announcing that she had never thought she'd live to see the day when she had little grandchildren of her own. She was adamant that they had to start again soon so she could see many, many more of them. Anna and John exchanged half-horrified, half-intrigued looks at the thought and said they'd maybe think about it further down the line.

Anna had been the one to insist on John as his name, wanting her husband to see how worthy she thought he was. After all these years, the last bit of doubt finally seemed to leave him. It was beautiful to behold.

Jack was followed two years later by Ciara, the squalling daughter they had both been hoping for. Named to honour her Irish heritage, she was a little beauty, and the culmination of all of their dreams. Because now they had a son and a daughter, and they couldn't be happier.

* * *

 _November_

Christmas had come early this year, with a flurry of snow in early November. The streets were already turning to slush, and Anna shivered even within the thick layers she had armed herself with that morning, staring in the brightly lit window in front of her. The warm lights beckoned her closer, but she remained where she was standing, trying to scout out the perfect gift amongst the multitude of knickknacks in front of her. Not that her brain was fully on the task at hand—she couldn't quite tear her longing thoughts away from the mug of hot chocolate she had promised herself was waiting for her in the Costa Coffee shop on the end of the street once she was done here. And that also meant that she'd be reunited with her family. They had agreed between them that they would split up for an hour so that they could look for Christmas gifts for each other. John had offered to take Jack and Ciara with him so that she wouldn't be constantly distracted by them, which she was grateful for, as Jack could be as rambunctious as he was sweet, but she found that she missed them. It had been a long time since there had been any peace and quiet in the house, or when she actually had a few hours to herself, but she would happily sacrifice that to be with the family she had always longed for.

Deciding that there was nothing for her here after all, she turned away from the window, ready to dive back in to the tumultuous waves of people that were heading in every direction, frantic shoppers caught up in the sense of early Christmas that had come in with the snows. She had just taken her first step forward when someone collided with her side. She squeaked a little and jolted her hip painfully against the window she had just vacated. Her assailant swore and reached out to steady her.

"I am so sorry—" he started.

A thrill of recognition went through her like ice cold water at the sound of his voice, and she glanced up into his face. At the same moment, his voice tailed off, and they stood there staring at each other as the world carried on around them.

Steven. _Steve_ , of all people, was standing there in front of her, having almost knocked her off her feet. She was sure she must look a right idiot, not quite able to register the sight in front of her, but she was in good company; Steve's mouth was hanging open in disbelieving incredulation and more than a touch of awkwardness.

"An- _Anna_?" he said.

"Yes, that's me," she said, gingerly pulling out of his hold.

" _Christ_." He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "It's been—well, it's been a long time."

"It has," she said.

More awkward silence. Steve cleared his throat, glancing around them. Anna found herself doing the same, trying to come up with some excuse to get away from him. When nothing immediate sprang to mind she settled for saying, rather lamely, "I wasn't expecting to see you here." It was ridiculous, really. Leeds was a huge city with thousands of people. How was it possible that she had run in to one of the few people that she had no wish to see ever again?

Steve seemed grateful to latch on to the line of conversation. "No. I don't actually live or work in Leeds anymore. I'm only back in town for a couple of weeks." He took a deep breath. "Mum died."

Anna's eyes widened. "Oh, Steve, I'm so sorry to hear that." And she really was. No matter how resentful she had felt towards her ex-boyfriend for a long time—until John entered her life, really—she had never disliked his mother. Their relationship had never been anything like the one she had fostered with Margaret, but Steve's mum had always been kind and welcoming. It was his dad she'd liked less—she had the distinct feeling that he'd never thought her good enough for his son. No doubt he'd thought that she'd held him back by forcing him to move to a pokey little town like Downton, when he should have been off chasing the highfliers down to London.

"Thank you," said Steve. "It was sudden. She didn't suffer, at least. I thought about telling you, I really did. I came back to Downton, to your old flat, but there's an old woman living there now."

"Oh, I haven't lived at the flat for years now. I have a house on the other side of town."

"No?" Steve looked mildly uncomfortable. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. I always worried about you living there on your own. There were always so many unsavoury characters around. I suppose it was a long shot that you'd still be living there, but I even went to Downton High, and when I asked to speak to you, they said you didn't work there anymore."

Anna frowned, confused. "Did they? That's strange, because I actually still do."

"You do? Oh. Weird."

"Perhaps it was a confidentiality thing," she suggested. "They probably can't give any kind of information out if you're not next of kin."

"Yeah, maybe."

More silence followed. Anna shifted a little, wondering what on earth else she should say. If there was anything else she even _wanted_ to say. She hadn't set eyes on him in nine years. If there had ever been any niggling need for closure, it had disappeared a very long time ago. Steven shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.

"So, still at Downton High," he said. "That's some dedication."

"You know I was dedicated," she replied. The implicit accusation hung in the air between them, the ghost of all that had passed with the end of their relationship. Steve looked mortified.

"Anyway, as I said, I've moved on," he babbled. "From the finance company, I mean. I still work in finance but…I'm based in London now."

"How nice for you," said Anna. So it appeared that his dad had got his wish at long last. She wondered what he was getting at by telling her.

It became apparent a moment later. Steven's whole visage simply crumpled, and he reached out to grab her arm.

"I'm single, you know," he said hoarsely. His eyes roved her face. "God, Anna, I was such a fool. I know I screwed everything up royally. I don't know what I was thinking. I _wasn't_ thinking. I was just an idiot. I let my prick do the thinking for me. And I'm so sorry for hurting you."

Anna felt a horrible jolt at his words and at the look in his eyes. Steve admitting responsibility for what he'd done and showing remorse was nine years too late. How different might things have been if he'd done this straight off the bat instead of trying to win her back with stupid gifts whilst simultaneously blaming her for his cheating? She'd always told herself that it was something that she'd never forgive, but at the time she'd thought that she'd loved him. She might have given him a second chance. She might have even have been engaged, or married, on that April day when John had walked in to her life. She might have had a working car, with no reason to accept his offer of a lift.

God, it did not bear thinking about.

"Steve—" she started. This had to be nipped in the bud. There was no point in raking over old coals. She did not want to have to be cruel enough to stand there and tell him that by being a cheating rat, he had made her the happiest woman alive years later.

"No, please, let me finish," he overrode, wild-eyed. "That fling with Sarah…It was so fucking stupid. It was just sex, I swear to you. I know that doesn't make it any better, but I never had feelings for her. When you called things off I tried to make things work with her because I was terrified of the thought that it might have all been for nothing, but the truth is that it _was_. You can't force feelings, and I couldn't make myself feel anything for her, no matter how hard I tried. It only lasted a few months after you left."

"But you never came back," she pointed out.

"I wanted to. So badly. But I was a coward. And then it became easier just to keep away. But I've never forgotten about you, Anna. I won't lie and pretend that there haven't been other women, but I think that I was just trying to find a replacement for you, and it never worked. I started to realise that you really were the only person I'd ever wanted."

And still he'd never come back and tried to explain himself. Standing here with him now, Anna wasn't sure what he wanted her to say. Because his words made her feel nothing. There was no anger or animosity anymore. She'd long ago stopped wondering about him.

And, really, he said he'd changed, but had he? Here he was, with that earnest expression on his face, proclaiming that he still loved her, that no other woman he'd had had ever compared…and was standing there as if he expected that her life had been a mirror of his, that she'd been static for the last nine years mourning the loss of the relationship that had turned out to be nothing like what she'd thought it was at the beginning. By saying he'd wanted to come back, he'd silently admitted that there must have been opportunities to. But he'd never cared enough to take the leap. He'd cared about his self-perseveration more. They would never, ever have had this conversation if he hadn't accidentally run into her a few minutes before.

"Nothing's changed," he said. "God, even _you_ haven't changed. Seriously, you don't look a day older than you did when I last saw you. In fact, you're even more beautiful. You look like you're practically glowing."

And there were the compliments, meant to soften her up, accompanied with that boyish grin she had known so well for the five years she had spent with him. He _had_ changed a bit, but not for the worse. His hair was shorter and neater, his face had lost its babyishness, and he was sporting stubble that suited his face. At one time, her stomach had fluttered to look at him. She'd been certain that he was the one that she'd spend her life with, the only man she had ever been able to stand touching her.

But that was before John.

Steven was wrong. Because everything had changed. She _had_ changed.

Before she could find the words to respond, however, they were interrupted by a high pitched squealing. Anna automatically turned in the direction of the sound, a smile blooming on her face. There, running towards her, was her little boy, his stocky little legs moving as fast as they would carry him, his father keeping pace with him with the utmost ease.

"Hi, hi, hi!" Jack was squealing, waving at her excitedly.

"Who's that?" Steve asked, but she ignored him, bending down and opening her arms wide so Jack could race into them. He was full of boisterous beans, and he almost knocked the wind out of her in his enthusiasm. She didn't mind. She simply pulled him closer to her and pressed her cheek to his woolly hat. When she looked up, John had reached them, pushing Ciara along in the pram, his cane hanging over the handlebars. Ciara burbled away, tucked up snug as she was, and John bent down to lift her out gently, holding her in his strong left arm. He took his cane in his right hand, using it to straighten his stance as much as possible.

"Hello," he said, eyeing them suspiciously.

Anna pushed herself back in to a standing position, laying her hand against the top of Jack's head as he wrapped himself around her legs.

"This is Steven McCullen," she said, looking straight at John. His eyes narrowed.

" _Steven?"_ he said; clearly the significance of the name hadn't been lost on him.

Steve, on the other hand, seemed none the wiser. "That's me."

Quickly, Anna added, "Steven, this is John Bates."

"Nice to meet you," said Steve.

"Likewise," said John, but there was no hint of welcome in his voice. "I'd offer to shake your hand but I'm rather tied up at the moment."

"No worries," Steve said. His eyes, which had been fixated on the cane, strayed to Jack. "They're both cute as buttons. Your grandkids?"

John bristled, and Anna found herself doing the same. It happened rarely, but she hated it when people made comments like that. It never did John's self-esteem any good, and it was rude.

"No, my children," he said, his tone overly-polite, a sure sign that he had taken an instant dislike to him—not that any different could have been expected, considering what Steven was to her.

"Oh, my apologies," said Steve. He looked back to her. "Where's Kate?"

Anna blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Is Kate at work? Are you giving John some sisterly advice?"

Could someone truly be that dense? The answer surely had to be 'no'.

"I jolly well hope she's not giving me sisterly advice," said John, and there was nothing polite about his tone any longer.

"Jack and Ciara are _mine_ , Steve. Kate's their auntie, not their mum."

"You Mummy!" Jack squealed now, squeezing her tighter, and she drew him closer to her side, jutting her chin rebelliously at her ex. He looked decidedly dazed.

"Yours…?" he said faintly.

"That's right," John confirmed. "I take it you didn't realise that Anna's my wife?"

Now Steve looked positively ill. "No, I didn't." He turned slightly accusatory eyes on her. Anna stared back defiantly. No longer would he be able to pin the blame on her. It was none of his business who she had married. He had no right to feel aggrieved that she had moved on to someone better.

It seemed that now John was on a roll, he wasn't going to stop. He'd puffed his chest out to make himself look even more intimidating. "Jack there's almost three. And Ciara is almost six months old."

"I see," Steve said stiffly. "You've been together quite some time, then." That accusatory stare still burned, as if she ought to have wrote and told him so that he could have avoided making a fool of himself. Too late. He'd already made himself a fool a long time ago, the moment that he dropped his trousers for Sarah Anderson.

"Six years," said John. "Happiest years of my life. We met at a career day at Anna's school. I was in the military at the time. We hit it off straight away." It wasn't surprising that he'd glossed over the turbulent times they had known at the beginning of their friendship, although she supposed he wasn't lying; the chemistry they had had as friends had been instinctive and natural.

"How nice," said Steven, in a tone that suggested he thought it was anything but. Gone was his previous friendly and puppy-like approach. Now his expression was stony. "Well, don't let me keep you. I'm sure you've got lots of things to do, as have I."

"A trip to Mothercare," said John. "We're going to have to start looking for some new baby clothes. Took us quite by surprise, didn't it, love?"

Steven's face was as still and breakable as glass. "Oh. Another one?"

"Yes," said Anna, and her hand slipped instinctively to her stomach. They had only just found out about this little wonder a couple of weeks ago. When she had gone in for her blood test results at the doctors after feeling a little under the weather, assuming that her iron might be low, she had come out with the joyous news that she was expecting again. It had come as quite the shock; she hadn't expected to fall pregnant so soon after having Ciara. Even so, the news was welcome. Since meeting John, she had always dreamed of having a large, happy family. John had grown up an only child, and although she had had a sister, as the years had passed and her stepfather had caught her in a stranglehold, she had felt the distance growing between them. Both she and John had wanted a house filled with laughter, and with three children, that was what they would get. And Margaret, of course, was simply overjoyed to be having another grandchild. She had cried when they'd announced the news to her.

"You've blessed us so much, Anna," she'd said, and Anna's heart had swollen with how much she loved this family. _Her_ family. Now and forever.

"Well, congratulations," said Steve, though the words sounded more like a curse than a blessing. "That's nice for you. Really. I'm glad you found someone who you felt you could build a life with." His eyes turned sly as he turned to face John. "Anna and I go way back. She was the one who got away, if you catch my meaning."

"Perfectly," said John. "I do know who you are, you know."

Steve faltered for a moment but soon regained his composure. "Ah, she told you that I was her first love, then?"

"Something along those lines," John said evasively, shifting Ciara further up his shoulder. She snuffled into his neck and that seemed to hearten him. "Anyway, we'd better keep going. We don't want Ciara to catch a cold out here. It's like the Baltic."

"Sure," said Steven. "Remember what I said, Anna."

And with that, he sauntered away, recovery well and truly complete. Anna could feel John's eyes burning in to her.

"What did he say?" he asked.

But she shook her head. She certainly wasn't going to have that discussion out on a slushy street in Leeds. "Never mind. Come on, let's go to Mothercare. And then we should go and get something to eat. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Jacky?"

"Yes!" he squealed, tugging on her hand. "Want choccy! Want choccy!"

"That's settled, then," she said. "Come on."

She started walking away. It took a few seconds for John to follow her.

* * *

For the rest of the day, John was uncharacteristically quiet. He did nothing different to normal. He still played with the children and aided her at every opportunity that he could, but there was still something different about him. His kisses were quiet contemplation. And, later in the evening, he announced that he was popping out to visit his mother. She gave it half an hour and phoned Margaret herself, but her mother-in-law confirmed that he wasn't there. She sounded worried, so Anna quickly reassured her that it was her mistake, that she must have misheard what he'd said and that there was nothing to worry about. Even so, when she rang his mobile, he didn't answer. She left him a message, reiterating that she loved him.

It was past ten when he did eventually return. Anna was sitting on the sofa, BBC News playing in the background as she stared blankly at the screen, and she jumped to her feet when he entered. There was a light dusting of snow on his shoulders and his hair was wet. He was shivering slightly.

"Where have you been?" she said, hurrying over to him and helping him out of his coat.

He didn't even try to protest that he had been at his mother's. "Out for a walk. I needed to clear my head."

"Why?" she demanded. "What's wrong? Talk to me, John."

He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm knackered, so I think I'll head up to bed. Night, love." He bent in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, turning away from her to tramp upstairs. Anna remained motionless for a second, trying to process what had just happened. But she wouldn't let whatever was going on inside that head of his to fester. When they had made their wedding vows, they had promised to trust and honour each other. That meant that she would have to be open with him about the things Steven had said to her. It also meant that he had to tell her what he was thinking. He couldn't keep her in the dark. It wasn't fair. They should have been done with that when they'd laid bare their souls to one another all those Christmases ago.

After switching off the plugs and all of the lights, she followed his path upstairs. She found him in the bedroom, in the middle of changing. He glanced in her direction as she entered, then went back to buttoning his shirt; paying him no mind, she padded over to the bed and slipped under the covers. It would probably be best to have this conversation in the dark. John always seemed to respond better if he didn't think that she could see him properly, and she would grant him that.

It might make what she had to say a little easier, too.

Once John was dressed he rounded the bed to his own side and flicked off the light. They were plunged into darkness at once. The mattress dipped and groaned beneath his weight as he settled himself down, and for a moment they lay there side by side, silent and unmoving.

Anna broke the stasis, rolling on to her side and propping herself up on an elbow. Her other hand moved to press flat against his pyjama top. "I think we should have a talk about this afternoon."

"If you think it's a good idea."

It was necessary, that was what it was. "You wanted to know what Steve said to me. I'm assuming that that hasn't changed."

He shrugged. "While I was out, I wondered if it was better that I didn't know."

"Don't be silly. I have nothing to hide from you." Soon, he would see that that was the complete and utter truth.

"All right, then. If you think it's best."

"I do." She paused a moment to collect herself. The words did not come easy because she knew how her husband's brain worked, but she forced them out anyway. "Steve…Those things that he said…He-he told me that he'd been an idiot. That he should never have let me go."

For a long time, there was silence. Anna waited patiently, counting the beats of John's heart beneath her palm.

Eventually, he said, "He didn't look like I'd imagined him to look."

"And how did you imagine him?"

He snorted. "A lot uglier. But I suppose that was to soothe myself."

"Steve _is_ uglier."

"I'm sure the majority of the women in the United Kingdom would disagree with you there."

"I don't care. My opinion is the one that counts, and I happen to think that you're the most gorgeous man alive. Steve's ugliness just doesn't happen to be visible. It's on the inside."

"Not much of a consolation, really," he mused.

"You can't seriously be comparing yourself to him."

She felt him shrug the shoulder that she wasn't leaning over. "Why not? It seems as if we're competing in other departments."

She sat up at that, jabbing him fiercely in the chest. "Don't even voice that. Do you really think so little of me that you think I'd be the remotest bit interested in what he had to say?"

He sounded abashed. "No. No, of course I don't think that little of you. That was a dickish thing to say. I didn't mean it."

"Well, it doesn't sound like that from where I am. And it bloody pisses me off, if I'm honest with you."

"I'm sorry."

"So you should be. I love _you_ , John. You. There could never be anyone else for me. I thought I'd made that clear to you when I chose to remain here instead of going to America."

"You did. I don't doubt you."

"You'd better not. If you doubt me, it means you doubt the life we've built together."

"Christ, no. No, I don't. I was just being a jealous, selfish prat."

"Good. Do you know what I was thinking when Steve stood before me telling me this?"

John shook his head. "No. What?"

"All I could think about was how glad I am that he screwed everything up. Because, honestly, I can't imagine my life with anyone but you. I don't _want_ to. He told you that he was my first love. I don't know if I loved him or not, I've told you that before. But he was a huge part of my life, I can't deny that. He was my first everything. But first doesn't mean _best_. _Last_ means best. If I'd loved him that much I could have ignored the fact that he screwed around with someone else behind my back. I could have placidly accepted it and taken him back and prayed that it never happened again. I didn't. He didn't love me enough to fight for it, and I didn't love him enough to work at the problems. There is nothing that I shared with him that I haven't shared with you. There are a thousand things that I've shared with you that I have never shared with him."

John was silent for a time. She waited for him to sort through his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," he offered at last. "I know I'm being childish and stupid. I truly don't doubt you, you know. I never have. There have been plenty of times when I've wondered how you could love someone like me, but I never disbelieved what you were saying."

"I thought you did, right at the beginning," she teased him tentatively. "When I told you I loved you at New Year." The fact that he had rejected her then was still a tender subject with him, though she had long since learned to accept it for what it had been: a blessing in disguise, for despite all the heartache she had had to endure in the following year, it had only made them stronger by the end of it, more assured in everything that they were together.

John shook his head seriously. "No. I _wanted_ to disbelieve it. It would have been easier if I could have dismissed it all. But I knew, deep down, as much as I refused to acknowledge it. I'd already seen that you were a strong woman who knew her own mind, and I knew that you were sincere in what you were saying. It just bloody terrified me."

"For far too long."

"Yes." John tapered off again. She could practically hear the thoughts whirring round his head. "I didn't think I was worthy of you. I thought I was too damaged to be of any use to anyone, and I loved you too. I didn't want you living in the shadows of my mistakes. I thought I could manage things if I kept you in my life as a friend, but of course that was foolish of me. And then I was injured and I was left even less of a man than I was before."

Anna sat up now, moving to peer into his face. "I _never_ saw you as less than any other man."

"I know that. I just didn't want to see it. The PTSD, everything…it was overwhelming. I couldn't hear reason, not at first."

Even now, so many years on, when she knew that he was fine, that he was there with her, that he was a proud father and husband, it never got easier to remember John's recovery. There had been survivor's guilt. Suicidal thoughts. It had taken him years to admit that that was what he'd spoken about in his counselling sessions, and even though he had been quick to reassure her that that was no longer the case, it had still bloody terrified her. Still terrified her today, that he had been put through so much, that he had reached such a low point in his life.

"I know now that I was a fool not to believe in what we had from the beginning. But even now that I am wholly and completely assured in what we have, it can be hard for me sometimes. Those thoughts of inadequacy…They come back. And seeing Steven…well, he brought them back too."

"Why?" she asked softly.

"Because…seeing him with you, knowing what he once was to you…I compared myself to him."

"John, you shouldn't," she protested.

"I _know_ I shouldn't. But I did anyway. And it brought all those old feelings of inadequacy back up, that no matter how we might feel about each other, there will always be someone out there who is better for you than me. Younger, able-bodied…"

"Stop it," she said fiercely. "Stop talking like that right now. There is _no one_ better for me than you. Do you hear me, John? _No one_. You are the man who brought me back to life when I thought I was content with what I had. You are the man who I wanted to give my body to almost from the beginning. Do you know how long it took me to feel that way about Steven? Almost a year. He was patient with me, and I was thankful for that, but even then, I didn't trust him the way that I trusted you, even in a few short meetings. You are the man that I wanted to marry. Yes, I expected that one day I would marry Steve, but it wasn't something that I yearned for or desperately wanted. With you, I imagined having your name as soon as I started to fall for you. You made me happier than words can say when you proposed to me in Alaska. And, yes, I imagined that I would have a family with Steven because eventually that's what most married couples want. But I never really knew what I wanted, or what I yearned for them to look like. They were just shapes. When I met you, I knew straight away what I needed. Dark haired sons, perhaps one daughter who looked like me. You are the father of my children. You made my dreams a reality."

Anna could hear the tentative smile in John's voice when he spoke next. "It didn't quite go to plan, though, did it?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

"Well, we didn't quite manage the dark haired son, did we? Jack has your colouring."

"We didn't get the blonde-haired daughter, either," she said. "But I think we did just fine. They're both the image of you, which is what I wanted all along."

"You're right," he said. "Of course you're right. Well, perhaps not about them looking like me. That was a most unfortunate thing to wish upon them."

"Oh, hush, you. You're the most handsome bloke around, and I think we make gorgeous babies between us."

"That's something I can't argue with. We _do_ make gorgeous babies."

"Good. Now, do you promise to stop thinking about Steven?"

"I'll try," he promised. "Just give me a few days. It might take a little while for me to work through it. To find myself again, as it were. I know what he thought when he looked at me. He thought that I was an old, knackered man well beyond his sell-by date. I know he thought that you must have been settling for second best to have chosen me. I know that tonight he'll go to sleep smug, thinking that he's won at something even if he hasn't won at everything."

"And he's wrong on all counts, isn't he? When he searches for you on the Internet tomorrow—which I know he'll do—he'll realise that he could never compete. A war veteran turned editor, injured in the line of duty saving someone's _life_. All sense of self-satisfaction will be gone when he realises that I fell in love with a hero."

John snorted. "I must admit, that gives me a nasty sense of satisfaction. Injured war veteran winning the heart of the woman of his dreams sounds like some godawful Danielle Steel novel."

"Now you're just ruining it."

"I have to keep things realistic sometimes." He sobered. "I'm sorry I walked out earlier. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's all right."

"It's not. It's not fair of me to take my insecurities out on you."

"I just wish you didn't have them anymore, that's all."

"I think they're always going to be there. But I want you to know that I do trust you with all my heart. I _do_ know that you love me, and that you love our family." His hand crept to her stomach, where their third child was growing right at that very minute. "I know that what we have is forever."

"Good," said Anna. "Because I'm Team Bates, and nothing will ever change that."

John wound his fingers through her hair and she went to him willingly, clambering up over his body with a little awkwardness until she was resting over his stomach. "Team Bates, eh?"

"Yes," she hummed, running her fingers over his forearms until she found his hands, pushing them back to the mattress and pinning them down. She had always enjoyed being in this position above him, being in control. They had always enjoyed a satisfying and variable sex life, but she knew that this was John's favourite position, too. She could feel the evidence of that beneath her. "I'll always be Team Bates."

"Good," he said, and she leaned down to kiss him, catching his mouth fiercely. He made a sound in the back of his throat, trying to wriggle his hands free, and she allowed him to do it if only for the ease of getting rid of their cumbersome layers. Once they were naked, she took charge again, slamming his hands back up above his head as she coaxed his body to a quivering frenzy.

"Steve lost me," she breathed, "and good riddance to him. But you never have, and you never will. I'm yours, John. All yours."

"Mine," he whimpered.

"That's right. Mrs. Anna Bates. Your wife. I'm wearing your ring. I'm bearing your children." She hitched herself up, guided him where she needed him to be. "I seek comfort in your arms. I seek _pleasure_ in your arms. You leave me satisfied every single time you touch me. You're my big, strong man, and I love you so much."

"And I love you too," he managed, gasping when she began to rock against him. His fingers dug into her hips. _"Christ."_

She giggled at that, bending down to kiss him. "Remember, Mr. Bates, you have to be quiet. We don't want any interruptions, do we?"

He shook his head frantically, clenching his jaw. She laughed again at his way of trying to show self-restraint, but it didn't last for too long. Couldn't, not when everything felt so good, when the pleasure clouded out everything but him. Even without meaning to, in the back of her mind she drew secret comparisons between the man she had now and the boy she had had before. Steve had never made her feel this way. She'd never had fun between the sheets with him, had never seen stars. Perhaps it was because she was still trying to discover herself, still trying to force herself past the past, but it had simply not always worked for her. The relief that she'd felt at simply allowing him to touch her in that way had chased away any kind of frustration, but she recognised now just what she had been missing out on in the years she had shared his bed. Nice didn't necessarily mean good. She ought to have recognised that sooner, when she had to pretend that she got something out of it to soothe his ego.

It had never been a problem with John. He was a tenacious, thorough lover. He wanted to know absolutely everything about her; what worked, what didn't. They'd tried a hundred different things, each one exciting and fun. He could make her gasp and make her laugh whilst rolling in the sheets with her. To Anna, that was the mark of a real lover. With two young children underfoot, they had less time than they'd had before, but that had never changed John's approach. Her pleasure always came before his own.

He was treading familiar territory now, running his hands over all of the places that affected her most. She sank into the sensations and muffled her own sounds of pleasure against him, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she wanted him, that she loved him. He held her tight to him throughout, and when they found their pleasure they found it together, in a burst of rare, pure wonder.

When she had finished trembling, Anna slipped from his body to snuggle into his side. They wouldn't be able to linger like this for long, with the chance of being interrupted by their children, but for the moment she cherished how it felt to be in her husband's arms, pressed close to him as he slipped a hand between them and pressed a soft palm over her stomach, over their sleeping child. She pressed a sleepy smile to his shoulder and squeezed him tighter.

"I love you, John," she murmured for the final time that night, and he pressed a kiss to her hair.

"I love you too," he whispered. "I promise, I won't let anyone put me down any longer."

"Good," she said simply. "Because there's no one else. No one else can compare to you. You ruined all other men for me the moment I got to know you, and I have never been more grateful for anything."

They dozed together in a happy afterglow.

* * *

 _July_

July brought the birth of their second daughter, Lily. The Bates tribe was complete and, more importantly, happy. No more thoughts were given to the past. Steve, like Vera, was never mentioned again. They could look ahead to their bright future.

* * *

 _December_

All was quiet in the Bates house; nothing stirred, not even a mouse.

Anna groaned as she reclined back against her pillows, rubbing her sore back. It was past midnight, and she had just finished helping John take the sackfuls of presents downstairs for the children. Or at least she had _tried_ to help. John was fussy about letting her do too much. She had been permitted to carry the stockings downstairs, but he had struggled with the rest of them. His knee would not thank him for it, but it was pointless trying to argue with him when he had set his mind on something. He'd been exactly the same over the previous pregnancies. And, she had to admit, it _was_ lovely to have someone cluck around her like a mother hen.

John limped into the room then, a little more lopsided than usual, no doubt down to that extra pressure he had been inflicting upon his knee joint without his cane to support him. Still, he managed a smile for her.

"Santa has been for his mince pie and glass of milk," he said, pulling back the covers so he could slip into bed beside her. "And Rudolph's carrot has mysteriously disappeared."

"To be eaten on the dinner tomorrow," she giggled, then prodded him in the stomach. "Which is what should have happened to the mince pie, too."

"You're grateful for the extra insulation in winter," he retorted good-naturedly, propping his pillows up so he could mirror her position.

"Not when I'm six months pregnant, I'm not. I sweat through the sheets enough as it is."

He chuckled. Anna was glad that he had finally got to the point where he could laugh about it. He had taken it hard when he'd started to put weight on after the injury. He had never been a small man by any stretch, but the rigorous army routines had helped to keep him fit. They were things he could no longer do, and bit by bit the extra weight had crept on. It had taken a lot to reassure him that none of that mattered to her, that in her eyes he was beautiful no matter what. In actual fact, she _liked_ that bit of extra padding. It made her feel secure, safe. Which he said was silly, but she didn't care.

In the end, the sheer force of her love, the sheer force of her desire for him, had broken through and made him at least accept that the new model was still perfect in her eyes.

And it was true: she _did_ like that he carried a bit of extra padding to keep her warm on the coldest nights. Unfortunately, two of the last six Christmases had involved her being pregnant, first very heavily to the point of almost bursting with Jack, and now a more bearable six months with their third child. She was dreading the sweats that would be getting even worse sooner rather than later now.

"Well, now that you've bruised my ego enough, I think it's time to go to bed," said John. "I have a feeling that we won't be afforded a lie in."

"We won't be getting one of those for many, many more years to come," Anna sighed, but she didn't mind. Nothing brought her greater joy than seeing the looks on her children's faces on Christmas morning, especially now that they were old enough to appreciate what it was all for. Their excitement was contagious. "Goodnight, then."

John did not move to turn off the light. Anna raised her eyebrow.

"What is it?" she said.

He was wearing that silly grin she loved so much. "You know what I want."

She groaned, wriggling her legs beneath the bedsheets, even as she couldn't stop her own smile. "Absolutely not. It's far too cold."

"You were complaining a minute ago that it's too hot. You can't have it both ways."

"I think you'll find I can."

" _Please_ , Anna. Don't deny me…"

"You're not touching me with those cold hands. Warm them up first."

He sprang into action dutifully, and she giggled as he rubbed his hands together and blew into them to create warmth from the friction. He really was a silly beggar.

"They're warm," he announced.

"All right…" she said, as if she was still reluctant; inside, the anticipation grew. She pulled the covers down over the swell of her stomach and pulled up the top on her maternity pyjamas, exposing her stomach to the cold air. John was practically beaming now, and his hands swept down to that uncovered skin, his touch making her shudder. His hands weren't _quite_ warm, but they were certainly better than the air around them, and the look of sheer joy on his face was more than enough compensation.

"Hello in there, little baby," he murmured. "You're not moving about. Are you sleeping? That's a good girl. You should be sleeping nice and snug, otherwise Santa won't come and leave you any presents. And you know Mummy needs her rest too. Don't worry, you'll be here with us properly next Christmas. Then you can join in all the fun with your big brother and sisters. And us, of course. We'll have so much fun, little darling."

Anna's heart felt like it was doubling in size hearing John speak like that. He had a similar conversation with her stomach nearly every night, adamant they were having another girl, but it still didn't become any less powerful over time. She moved her hand to the back of his head as he bent in closer, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin.

"Sleep tight, little one," he whispered, and he kissed her there. When he pulled back, she moved her other hand to his face, guiding him closer to her. Without saying a word, she meshed her mouth against his, kissing him softly, pouring all of the love she felt for him into that series of kisses as his lips curved beneath hers. She didn't let him go until she'd had her fill of him, and when she did, his eyes were heavy-lidded.

"I love you," she told him.

"I love you too," he said. "My Anna. My darling Anna."

He moved in to kiss her one more time, lingering, then shuffled back so he could resume his place on his side of the bad. With a little bit of clumsy manoeuvring, Anna settled herself down onto her side, pulling the quilt snug around her bump, leaving her upper body exposed to the cool December air. Not that she would be cold for much longer; John moved closer so that his front was pressed to her back, his arm draped across her stomach, keeping her close. At some point in the night, she would probably push him away from her so that she didn't feel like she was going to spontaneously combust. For now, she pushed back against him, closing her eyes, relishing everything she had struggled for and won.

* * *

"Mummy! Daddy! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

The shrieking chorus of three children brought Anna abruptly back to the waking world. She was still tangled up with John. It was pitch black outside.

John was the first one to shift, pushing away from her and up into a sitting position. His voice was sleep-drunk. "Bloody hell, it's four thirty!"

"Don't swear," she mumbled, her voice coming out just as slurred, then realised what he'd said. "Four thirty!?"

"And Santa has been!" said Jack happily. "He's been!"

With a gargantuan amount of effort, Anna struggled up into a sitting position, her hand immediately moving to soothe her bump as the baby wriggled inside her, evidently none-too pleased at the disturbance. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found her three elder babies standing at the foot of the bed.

Jack, seven in just a week's time, was practically bouncing. "Ciara was too scared to look downstairs in case Santa was there, but I dared do it! And he's been already and left us presents! They're everywhere!"

"It's half past four in the morning!" said John again. It seemed to be the only thing he could articulate.

"But _Santa's_ been!" Jack said impatiently. "Get up, Mummy! Get up, Daddy! We've got to open our presents _now_! I'll go and get Granny up."

With that, he stampeded out of the room, his baby sisters on his heels. John swore again, burying his head more firmly against her neck.

"They're getting worse every year," he mumbled. "Before they were always too scared to look downstairs before it got light in case Santa hadn't been yet."

"I know," she sighed. "But it's probably going to be the last time Jack ever believes in Santa. We ought to make it memorable and fun for him."

"True," John conceded. "God, they're growing up so fast."

"Don't you start getting maudlin, Mr. Bates. Today is a day of celebration, and we're going to celebrate."

"Spoken like a trooper," he said. "I am at the mercy of your demands, Mrs. Bates."

"Mummy! Daddy! Come on!"

Anna smirked, pushing his hands away. "You're at the mercy of your children's demands, John. Now, let's go."

* * *

They gathered in the sitting room together, armoured in their warmest dressing gowns and slippers. Margaret yawned widely, rubbing at her eyes.

"Lord, my bones are too old for this," she complained.

"You were the one who wanted so many of them," John reminded her cheerfully. "You've got to pay the price for them."

"I'm quite sure, whether I wanted them or not, I was always destined to end up with a fair few grandchildren, what with the way you two carry on. You said that Lily was going to be the last, and this little bairn has slipped through the net. Which I am absolutely chuffed to pieces about, but it does prove my point."

"What point?" said Jack.

"Nothing for you to worry about," said Anna quickly, feeling her cheeks burn. "Now, why don't you look through the sacks and see what Santa has brought?"

With great enthusiasm, the children dived in. Ripped paper flew in every direction, like colourful confetti. Leo, as lazy as ever, did not seem to approve of this; whenever one of those floating pieces came near him, he hissed, as if that would somehow keep it at bay and restore some order to his world. Jinx, his new companion, bought a few months after Tiger's passing because he was mourning, by contrast, leapt up amongst it all, catching it between his paws and rolling on the floor when he'd secured it.

The presents were a success. With every gift opened, the children squealed with glee, clamouring to show the three of them just what Santa had brought. They went through the usual feigning of surprise and delight, remarking that they must have been especially good to get so many different things. It took just over an hour for them each to open all of their presents, and when they were done, they turned their attentions back to their gifts so they could have a proper look at every individual thing that had been bought.

"How about some cocoa?" said Margaret, getting to her feet. "It's the most perfect time of the year for it."

"Yes!" squealed Lily.

"With cream," Ciara said. "It's my favourite."

"And marshmallows," Jack added. "They're the best bit."

"Ach, you and your orders. What about you, Johnny? Anna?"

"I think a coffee might be prudent if you don't want me dropping off over the Christmas dinner," said John.

"I'll have a decaf tea," said Anna. "Here, let me help."

"You'll do no such thing. You stay right where you are. You need to be slowing down now."

"You sound like John," she pouted.

"John is right. You're six months pregnant."

"You hardly let me do anything as it is."

"Which is exactly how it should be. We've got to keep you happy and healthy. I'm sure Mr. Carson feels the same."

"I think I make Mr. Carson uncomfortable. I'm not sure he really knows what to do around pregnant women."

"You can't be the only woman who's ever got pregnant there."

"True. And it's not always the teachers, either. But he's a little bit on the old fashioned side. And I think he's more than a little tired of my ability to get pregnant if John so much looks at time."

"Daddy's eyes bring babies!?" said Jack.

"Little ears shouldn't be listening to this conversation," said John. "Come on, trouble, let me help you set up that electric trainset."

"Then you can help me set up my dressing table, Daddy!" said Ciara, launching herself onto his back as he crouched down with a groan. "I will make you look all pretty!"

"And me!" Lily insisted. "I want to be a pwincess, Daddy! Like Elsa!"

"You're already _my_ little princess, my darling. The prettiest princess of all."

"What about me?" Ciara pouted.

"Well, you're beautiful too!"

"But you just said that Lily is the prettiest of them all."

"You and Lily are _both_ the prettiest of them all."

"There can't be two prettiest. Only one. That's what they always say in fairy tales."

"This isn't a fairy tale. This is Daddy's family. And I think all the girls in this family are the most beautiful girls in the world. Now, do you want to help build the trainset?"

Margaret stood and slipped away; Anna leaned back in her seat, her hands moving to cradle her bump. John had always been a fantastic dad. She had never doubted his abilities for a moment. He had had his worries about it, but they had all proven to be unfounded. He couldn't have been more perfect. He loved his children with a fierceness, treasured everything they did. In turn, the children doted on him. Jack tried to model himself on his daddy with everything he did, his spitting image except for his blond hair and blue eyes. Similarly, Ciara was the apple of his eye, dark haired and dark-eyed, with the striking round cheeks and the shape of his jaw. By contrast, Lily was more like Anna was, which pleased John to no end. He had made no secret of wanting the children to look like her, and had felt sorry for his eldest two taking after him so closely. _Poor buggers_ , he was fond of saying, which Anna thought was silly. Her husband was a handsome man, so it was not surprising that their children were so good looking. They made a very good team in that department. And, Anna had to admit, it _was_ nice to see a reflection of herself staring back at her in sweet little Lily. And now they would have a fourth to do it all over again with. It was an exciting prospect.

She couldn't wait for it to begin all over again.

* * *

After their hot chocolate and toast, Anna took the children upstairs to get them showered while John made a start on the vegetable preparation. Jack was old enough not to need help anymore, so she left him to his own devices as she sorted out the girls' clothes. There was one thing that she absolutely insisted on: all the family had to wear ugly Christmas jumpers. It had become a Bates family tradition ever since that one that John had spent in the hospital. She was quite proud of the ones she had hunted out this year. Margaret's looked like a Christmas tree, complete with pompoms for baubles and tinsel criss-crossing along it. Jack had started to complain about it, so she had bought him one with the iconic Grumpy Cat wearing a Santa hat. Ciara had wanted one with dancing gingerbread men in a garish red, and Lily had a Rudolph pulling a goofy face. John as enthusiastic as his son, had been forced to accept a mistletoe jumper, a throwback to the Christmas that had brought them together. Her own this year was less ugly. This was the second time she'd been pregnant at Christmas, but her old maternity jumper was far too big for her; she'd been almost fit to burst with Jack the last time around. This one had the image of a Christmas pudding that pulled tight over her bump, and the missive _we made a Christmas pudding_ which she found amusing and the children didn't understand at all. "You tell us not to lie, Mummy. But you are. Where's the Christmas pudding you and Daddy made?" Jack had been asking all week.

When Jack had done with his shower, she helped each of the girls in turn, then sent them back downstairs to their granny. Her shower time would be the only peace she got all day, and she was determined to enjoy it. She stripped off and relaxed under the warm spray, closing her eyes.

The bathroom door opened.

She opened her eyes. John was standing at the threshold.

"How would you feel about me joining you?" he said. "Would you prefer to be alone?"

Her relaxing shower could wait until another time, she decided. Christmas was rightfully about the children, but she wanted them to have some special moments of their own. This could be one of them. It had been a long time since they'd last been able to share a shower, what with three young children and Margaret around to disturb them at any moment. Right now, the kids would be far more interested in testing out their Christmas windfalls, and Margaret would be keeping a watchful eye over them. They could spare a little bit of time for each other.

"No, that's okay," she said. "Come here."

He shed his pyjamas with an amusing speed, clambering clumsily into the shower with her. It was a much tighter squeeze than normal, what with the bump, but he didn't seem to mind. Anna certainly didn't. She enjoyed being in her husband's arms, pressed close to his body. It was a little less close with her bump, but it wasn't deterring John—the way that his hands had travelled round and lower couldn't be mistaken. She enjoyed being pregnant, feeling sexier than ever until the final stages, and it seemed to be a woman's complaint that they felt less desirable to their men in those late months, but Anna had never felt that. John seemed to desire her however, whatever, whenever.

"There's no time for any of that now," she scolded, moving her hands to his wrists to stop his hands from moving any lower over her bum.

"How would you know?" he murmured against her neck. "I'm quite sure I could set a new record for speed."

"Which does not sound appealing at all, Mr. Bates. A pregnant woman has got to feel loved and worshipped. Later, if we can manage it."

"You are a cruel mistress, Anna May Bates," he groaned.

"I'm a wife, not a mistress. Pass me the soap. I'll scrub your back."

She enjoyed running her hands over his strong muscles, teasing him. She enjoyed the way they flexed beneath hr hands, and the way he pushed back into the scratch of the sponge, like a bear on the bark of a tree. He was such an idiot.

Once they had rinsed off, they stepped back into the bedroom and began to towel off. As Anna slipped on her undergarments, her mobile rang. A FaceTime call. She pulled on a robe and accepted it. Mary's pristine face materialised.

"Merry Christmas, darling!" she said, then screeched dramatically and covered her eyes. "Oh, God, maybe not."

"Mary? What on earth is wrong?" she asked in confusion.

"Your husband is walking butt naked around behind you! I think I'm going blind!"

Anna turned to find the statement to be true; John paused in the middle of pulling on his boxers and almost fell over, horror alive in his eyes.

"Bloody hell, move that thing away!" he yelped, staggering out of Mary's eye line. "And, Mary, I swear to God if you tell Robert…!"

"Don't flatter yourself! I never want to have to repeat this! I think I threw up a little in my mouth."

"He's not as bad as all that, thank you very much!" Anna said indignantly. "I'll have you know that John's bum is very nice. Peachy and firm. It's the kind of bum perfect for grabbing."

Mary mimed gagging. "Disgusting. Way too much information."

"Oh, like I haven't heard enough of _your_ gory details over the years. Do you think I was really interested in hearing about how big Matthew's di-"

"Now _I'm_ going to be sick," John grumbled. "Please, change the subject."

Mary harrumphed. "I was just ringing to wish you a Merry Christmas."

Anna relaxed. "You too. How is everyone?"

"The same as usual. It's like a madhouse here. Papa is acting high as a kite, and you know what Sybil and Tom are like when they're over from Ireland. Mama is beside herself with joy because she doesn't get to see her every Christmas anymore. The children have been screaming for the last hour. Honestly, I think I'm the only sane one left in this house."

"That's saying something," Anna heard John mutter behind her, and stifled a giggle.

"They're only children," she said.

"I know that. I just wish they'd do it more quietly. I've got a simply pounding headache from the prosecco I was drinking last night. I think I'm going to need another drink just to help me forget about it. What about you? Do your darlings like their gifts from Santa?"

"They seem to love them," she said happily.

"And you're all set for your mum coming tomorrow?"

"Just about."

It had been a long process, getting back to some semblance of a relationship with her mother. Deep down, Anna knew there could be no forgiveness for what she had turned a blind eye to—and, worse, validated by shipping her off and staying with him. The financial security should have meant nothing in comparison with a daughter, but it had, and there was no real coming back from that. But, at the same time, Anna didn't want to poison her own children against the maternal side of their family. They saw Auntie Kate and Uncle Kyle sometimes, when Kate wasn't too busy with her work, and Anna allowed her mum to come down and see her only grandchildren whenever she wanted, as long as she did not breathe a word of their whereabouts to that monster. John would probably kill him if he stepped foot anywhere near, and that was no exaggeration. Relations between John and her mother had been very frosty at first, for he had not believed her fit to be a mother, and she had not believed him to be fit to be a husband or father. That didn't even begin to cover the dislike that her mum had shown for Margaret. Margaret had never, ever been told of the damaged relationship, but her mum seemed to see Margaret as a threat, a replacement mum, the jealousy exacerbated more by the close relationship they had. Those animosities had had to be pushed to one side after the children had come along, for no one had wanted them to pick up on a toxic atmosphere.

They'd manage. They always did.

"No doubt Robert will have you planning the New Year's party with military precision."

Mary groaned. "Don't remind me. I'll need to be drunk to get through that, too. God, I shall have liver failure by the end of the week."

"I'm sure you'll survive. How are George and Izzie?"

"Beyond excited. And Sybbie is the little ringleader making all the trouble, of course."

Anna grinned. Sybbie was the cute as a button. She had her Donk—Robert's title as grandfather, which John found absolutely hilarious—wrapped around her little finger. For someone who had not been at all enthusiastic about Sybil and Tom's relationship, he had certainly melted quickly when met with that cherubic little face, the very image of her mother. Children could do that to people.

"Well, we'd better get going," she said. "John has got the dinner to keep an eye on, and no doubt the kids will want us to show the proper enthusiasm about their new spoils from Santa. We'll see you New Year's Eve. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Anna. John, I hope you've put some clothes on. This isn't the Nightmare Before Christmas."

John muttered some choice words as Anna ended the call, rolling her eyes.

"That friend of yours has the worst timing in the world."

"She's always mine when she acts up," she teased. "Never mind that she's practically your goddaughter."

John was saved from arguing by Lily's appearance in the doorway. She was clutching at her new stuffed toy, a Disney character from a recent franchise that she had fallen in love with.

"Want to play," she complained, holding up the toy to illustrate her point. "Come now!"

Anna exchanged an amused look with her husband. "All right, my darling. We're coming."

"Be careful," John warned as she crossed the room and picked her up, settling her over her hip.

"I'm fine," she reassured him as Lily wrapped her arms around her neck and snuggled into her.

With her family around her, she'd always be fine.

* * *

The rest of the morning passed peacefully. The children played with their new acquisitions, while Anna bobbed between playing with them and popping her head in to check on John, who in turn shooed her out of the kitchen and back to relaxing.

All of the Bates traditions that Anna had been introduced to so long ago were continued, and so the usual cracker ritual was honoured. There were a couple of squabbles between the children over who should get what little prize, but Anna smoothed them over with expert ease and soon they were consuming their spoils. It was always a rowdy occasion, and in her eyes, nothing could be more perfect.

Margaret was instructed to keep an eye on the children afterwards, and Anna insisted that she help with clearing away, since John had worked so hard on the dinner. She could tell that it didn't sit well with him—no doubt he was thinking about her pregnancy—but she was firm. He did most of the manual stuff, but he did allow her to straighten the table and wipe the worktops.

After, they returned to the living room. John sank down onto the sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table. Anna snuggled up against his side, and he lifted his arm so he could drape it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She had just started to doze—the combination of the early morning and the full stomach was taking its toll—when she was jolted back to life by a shriek. Jack, Ciara, and Lily were crowded round the window, so close their noses were practically pressed to the glass.

"Look, Daddy! Look! It's snowing!" Ciara yelled, slapping her palm against the glass.

"Can we go out in it? Please?" Jack begged.

"I don't know," he teased. "What do you think, Mummy?"

"I suppose it can't hurt," she said with a smile, ruffling her son's thick blond hair. "Why don't you all go and get your hats and scarves on? Make sure you wrap up warm. We don't want you to come down with a cold."

All three of them nodded eagerly, and were back in five minutes flat, togged up to their ears. Anna inspected each one in turn, pushing Ciara's hat further down over her ears and fastening Lily's coat up before passing them as acceptable.

The crisp white snow was not untouched for long. Three overexcited children stampeded out into the garden with shouts of delight. Jack promptly threw himself face first into the powder, shrieking, "It's cold! It's cold!"

"Ladies?" said John, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

"Lord, what a transformation," said Margaret. "I tell you, Anna, when he was a lad, he hated the very thought of snow. He complained that it was too cold and wet and refused to step out in it. I suspect it gave him more of a reason to bury his head in a book."

"I was the total opposite," Anna confessed. I used to pray for it to snow, even in the middle of summer. There was nothing I loved more than trudging through it in my wellies."

"Let's recreate it today, then," said John. "I promise, I won't let you slip over."

"All right. Give me a minute."

It was a bit of a struggle to get her wellies on what with her expanding stomach, but eventually she was kitted out. Margaret settled herself at the table with a cup of tea and the Queen's speech, leaving them to it.

The cold slapped Anna in the face as soon as she stepped into the garden.

"God, it's cold out here!" she said, shivering. Even Baby wasn't keeping her warm. John chuckled, pulling her closer.

"I'll keep you warm, if you like," he said teasingly. "Look, share my body heat."

"That's when they zip themselves naked in a sleeping bag in clichéd romance films. I value my fingers, thank you very much."

"It's rooted in medical fact, we all know that. Besides, I was thinking of saving the stripping naked until later."

"You are insatiable, Mr. Bates," she said.

"I have to be, to keep up with you, you racy minx," he said, and pulled her to him before she could object. His mouth was cold on hers, but he sent warm shivers down her spine at the contact. Damn the man. He had always been too good at that. She clung to his jacket with one hand and wrapped her other around his neck, bringing him further down to her level. For some reason, he loved having to stoop to kiss her. It was another of his oddities. Although maybe that wasn't strictly fair—she loved having to stretch up on her tiptoes to meet him, feeling like a munchkin in the presence of a giant.

"Ewww! Gross!"

Anna didn't even have time to pull away before a cold, hard ball hit her square in the back. She squeaked, the wet soaking through her layers, turning to berate her son.

Only to be hit square in the face with another ball.

"John Daniel Bates!" she shouted. "What on earth was that for!?"

Jack tossed another perfectly rounded ball up into the air and caught it in his palm.

It promised a threat.

"Kissing is gross," he said matter-of-factly.

"Is it, now?" said John. "Wait until you're older, son. Then we'll see how gross you think it is."

"I always will!" said Jack defiantly, and launched the snowball at them. It hit John in the arm.

"Oh, you're in for it now…" he growled, stooping to make his own ball. Jack squealed and bent down with lightening quick speed, hurling another snowball. John dodged it easily and launched his own in return. It hit Jack in the chest.

"No, Daddy!" he shouted. "Ciara, Lily, help me!"

Ever the dutiful sisters, the two bent down at once, scraping snow into their little hands. John turned to her.

"You're on my team," he said. "I can't fight a war on three fronts. Let's get these little monsters together."

Anna was only too happy to oblige. Bending to pick up the snow was a bit of a laborious task, with the constant bobbing making her short of breath embarrassingly quickly, but the looks on her children's faces were more than enough compensation. They weren't particularly good with their aims, either. More often than not, the snow sailed past their heads, and John returned the fire with deadly precision, his army training showing through with the casual flick of his wrist. The shrieks and shouts rang out through the yard.

"We need a different plan!" Jack shouted. "We should get Mummy instead!"

"Why?" said Lily. Her little face was bright red, and she was dropping more snow than she was packing into a ball.

"Because Mummy is really slow," Jack reasoned.

They seemed to be forgetting all about John's limp in the face of his spectacular snowballing. Anna turned to him.

"Don't you dare let them get me," she gasped. "I don't want to be soaked to the bone."

"That's the whole point of the game, my love," he said lazily, hurling another snowball. It missed Ciara's ear by mere millimetres. She screamed and returned the fire, a little less closely.

"John Bates, I swear to God if you let me get hit, there will be no promise of what I said in the shower this morning!"

His eyes widened at that. "Duly noted."

As the kids geared up for a triple attack, John moved his body so that he was shielding her from view. That was better. Her own brave soldier to the rescue. Or maybe not. He was thinking with other parts of his anatomy, just like most men.

"Let's leave Mummy alone," he said. "We've got to be very careful of her because of the baby. I'm afraid you're going to have to throw the snow at me if you want a target, but I'm not going to make it easy for you."

"We do it," said Lily, her confidence undermined by her poor throw.

"Oh, yes?" John taunted. "How are you going to do that, then?"

"Like this!" Jack yelled. "Come on, Ciara, Lily! Follow me!"

With that, he pelted across the tiny garden, launching himself at his daddy's legs. Caught off-guard, John wobbled and almost lost his footing. Anna stepped neatly out of the way, watching in amusement as her two daughters followed suit, throwing their little bodies at John's. With the slippery surface underfoot, he had no chance. Down he went, like the slain Goliath. The children cheered and high-fived one another, as if they had pulled off the greatest win in history.

"We got you, Daddy!" Ciara sang, smudging snow into his face.

"Bloody hell!" he gasped, shaking his head. "That's cold! It's going down my neck! Jesus!"

His protests only encouraged them more, and soon all four of them were rolling in the show, laughing and shrieking. Anna shook her head, her hand coming up to soothe the baby's flurry of kicks. It was a madhouse.

"All right," she said. "I think that's enough."

Four pair of eyes turned to look at her, two brown, two blue. All so very, very beautiful to her. She shook her head, put on her best commanding voice.

"I think it's time we went back inside," she said.

"No!" Lily protested. "Want to stay here!"

"No, that's enough," Anna said more firmly. "I don't want any of you to catch a cold."

"Mummy is right," said John, pushing his hair away from his face. "Let your old dad catch his breath."

Ciara wrinkled her nose, but relented.

Shivering, they returned inside. Anna helped the girls out of their wet clothes and into their pyjamas, taking them back downstairs to have a warm by the roaring gas fire. Margaret supplied them with more hot chocolate to warm their cockles. John returned with Jack in tow. His hair was still damp from where he had been in the snow, and his face was bright red.

"I hope I don't come down with something," he said mournfully as he flopped down on the sofa beside her.

"Poor man," she cooed. "Come and have a warm under the blanket with me."

Pouting, he shuffled closer, and she threw the thick throw over them, tucking it tight around them. Margaret tutted.

"Well, I don't feel sorry for you," she said. "Throwing yourself in the snow like that. Silly fool. I hope that knee of yours doesn't seize up."

"I'll put a warm compress on it later if it does. I'll survive."

"Brave soldier," Anna cooed, kissing his cheek. He grinned at her.

"Lordy," Margaret muttered. "I'm going to make myself a turkey sandwich. Anyone else want one?"

* * *

The antics of the day had worn the kids out completely. Lily was sound asleep by seven. Ciara had followed her by half past. And by eight, Jack's eyes were drooping too. Between them, Anna and John got them upstairs and into their beds. Jack was asleep before his head hit the pillow, and the girls never even stirred.

They returned downstairs to Margaret. The period drama that she had loved so much was still going strong, if not quite as successfully as the early days. The quality of the storytelling wasn't quite what it had been before, but Anna still enjoyed it, and the valet and the housemaid captivated her as much as they had at the beginning. They too had reached their happy end, with their children around them.

When the episode had finished, Margaret bid them a tired goodnight.

"It's been a long day," she said, bending to kiss them both. "My old bones are tired. I'll see you in the morning."

"I think we'll turn in too," said Anna. "I'm shattered as well."

John nodded, rising obediently. "I'll tidy things away down here. You go and get sorted."

Anna followed her mother-in-law up the stairs and parted with her on the landing. She went into the bathroom and cleaned her teeth, then searched through her drawers for a pair of pyjamas. She paused when her fingers came into contact with the crinkling paper hidden right at the bottom. She had almost forgotten all about it. She'd made the purchase before she'd found out that she was pregnant, and had intended at the time to save it for today. Her growing body had changed those plans. What should she do? Should she wait until she'd had the baby and had returned to a more natural state? She fingered the paper thoughtfully. To hell with it. She had always intended it as a gift. Why shouldn't she give it to him now? They would have to wait a while before they could enjoy it, but it would give them something to look forward to after the baby's birth. She pulled it out.

Five minutes later, John appeared in the doorway, his hair slightly damp from his washing in the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"What's that you've got there?" he asked, gesturing to the package, which she held in her lap.

"It's a Christmas present."

"Another one? You've spoiled me enough this year."

"Well, it's more of a promise than something that can be used right now."

"Sounds intriguing." He crossed the room, settling on the mattress beside her. She held out the package and he took it in his hands, peeling the paper away carefully. Always so meticulous, her husband.

His breath caught as he held it up.

"…Oh," he managed.

"Do you like it?"

He licked his lips. "I think I am going to love it."

Anna turned her gaze to it too, to the skimpy material that would leave very little to the imagination once it was on. She had tried it on once, in front of the mirror, and she had to admit that she had looked pretty good in it, the cut of it enhancing the flare of her hips and pushing up her breasts, which John had always loved.

"It doesn't fit now," she whispered. "But when I've had the baby and I'm back to a more normal shape, I'll model it for you. It'll give us both something to look forward to."

"You look beautiful all the time," he answered breathlessly. "It's something that I'm definitely looking forward to. But I don't need it to want you, Anna. I want you all the time. You're perfect."

He opened his arms to her, and she went to him willingly, wrapping her arms around him in return as she kissed him. Gently, he shifted their positions until they were lying facing each other, his hands creeping to her clothes. She encouraged him with a sigh, moving to reciprocate. She loved intimacy in this position when she was pregnant. It meant that they could still make love facing each other, able to kiss and look into one another's eyes. Nothing in the world meant more than being able to look at him while they were intimate, and she was glad that they didn't have to lose it. He kissed her, touched her, looked at her with such love that it almost made her burst.

He kissed her again, and she lost herself in his touch.

* * *

She trembled as the currents of the aftermath ran through her, making her tingle in pleasure all over. John continued to kiss her, slowly, softly, his right hand twined through her hair, his left still moving in slow circles in the place that felt so very good. Her breaths were coming in rather embarrassing little whimpers, but she couldn't bring herself to care. All she wanted was her husband's closeness.

She whined when she lost the intimate connection with him, but it was only for a minute; once he'd taken care of things, he was back, wrapping his arms around her and snugging her tight to his chest.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair, and she smiled against his chest, breathing in the musky scent of sweat and sex on his skin. She could relish it for a moment longer.

Eventually, though, they had to part. Any one of their children could walk in in the middle of the night after a nightmare, and it would not be good for any party involved if they were discovered with no clothes on. So, after a lingering kiss and an embrace that she was reluctant to pull away from, Anna slipped out of bed and padded around the room in search of the clean set of pyjamas that she hadn't managed to put on before. John shuffled to the end of the bed, ruffling his hair, and rummaged in his drawer for a clean pair of boxers. In the warmer months he tended to sleep in nothing else, but the winter always sent him scurrying back to the comfort of a pair of pyjamas. He looked utterly endearing in them.

Once Anna had been to the bathroom to relieve herself, she returned to the bedroom to find John lying on his back, one arm thrown over his forehead, the light from the lamp throwing light on the little frown on his face. Anna wrinkled her own brow. She'd know that look anywhere. It was John's brooding expression.

"John?"

He stirred, seeming to come back to himself. "Hmm? What is it, love?"

She made her way back over to the bed and hopped under the covers so that she was beside him once more. "You looked a million miles away just now. What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing much."

"It was more than nothing. You were wearing that frown of deep concentration. You know, the one I've always found such a turn on."

Her teasing brought a weak smile to his lips, and she leaned across to feel it under her mouth.

"You'll think me stupid," he said. "Or worse, a morbid tosser."

"I've lived with your brooding all these years. I already know how your mind works," she teased. "So, come on, out with it, Mr. Bates."

"Let me get settled, first," he murmured. "I'll tell you then."

It seemed a fair deal, so Anna wriggled about until she was comfortable on her side. Sometimes John found it easier to speak his mind if he wasn't looking into her face. Under the cloak of darkness, it seemed to give him the courage to open up about anything. She would turn to look at him in time, but for now he needed that safety. She pushed back against him instead, bringing his hand around to press against her stomach. He sighed and relaxed.

"I was just thinking," he murmured, "about how I'm glad that I was injured all those years ago."

Shocked at his words, forgetting her promise, Anna half-turned at once. "John, how can you say that?"

"But don't you see?" he said. "If I hadn't…if it hadn't destroyed my life, I could never have rebuilt it. Things would have carried on as before. You and I…well, I probably would have continued to deny that there could be anything more between us. I would never have thought myself worthy of you. I still, don't, in fact. But it was you who helped me to see the light of day, that if I let go enough, I could find happiness. I never would have imagined this kind of happiness. I can't bear to think of a life without Jack or Ciara or Lily or this little one in here. If my life had carried on as before, their perfection wouldn't have been in the world. You might still have been on the other side of the continent. I would have spent the rest of my days miserable without you. All of it would have been my fault, but I would have seen my life as pointless without you. Getting injured, losing William, having this limp…at the time I wondered how I would ever recover from any of it, but you were there. You were always there. You are too good for this world, Anna Bates, and I hope you know just how much I love you and appreciate you for all that you've done for me. You gave me back my life when I least expected it, and you have continued to give ever since then. I will never be able to match it, but I promise that I will do my best every day to make you as happy as I can."

"You don't have to promise me anything," she said. "You already do make me happy. The happiest woman in the world, in fact. I did have my doubts for a while, before you were injured, but I have never doubted since then. And you _have_ given me so much. You've given me four beautiful children, for one thing. I couldn't have made those on my own. You gave me your name, which was the thing I wanted more than anything else in the world. You gave me the courage to stand up for what I believed in and to never stop fighting for it. And you gave me the ability to see that I was wasting myself on any man who wasn't you. I could choose to wish that we hadn't had any of those struggles, or I can choose to think that we were supposed to have them in order to make us the best us we could possibly be. And I truly believe that, John. I believe we had to go through what we went through to become the people we were always meant to be. We value and appreciate every single moment, in a way that we never could have done if everything had been smooth sailing. And if you're happy, I'm happy. I couldn't be happier, actually. I lost a part of my family a long time ago, but I've got it back thanks to you, and your mum, and Jack, and Ciara, and Lily, and this little one. So thank you, John Bates."

"Happy Christmas," he whispered. There were tears in his eyes. She shuffled closer and rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone, kissing him sweetly.

"Happy Christmas," she echoed.

She knew there would be many, many more to come, with their family all around them. Ten years ago, she could never have imagined that she could be this happy. She and John had had their struggles, but being tested had only made them stronger. At the crossroads, she had chosen the path that had allowed her to follow her heart, and they still had many, many pages in their story to fill, the rest of their lives stretching out ahead of them. The chapter on their struggles had been finished forever. The last full stop had been put in place.

With their baby wriggling inside her, Anna couldn't wait to pick up her pen and start the next chapter in their lives. It was sure to be a masterpiece.


End file.
